Breath hot,
Face speckled,
I braided your hair
Like wheat in a dust storm.
Your shoulders,
In a position of melancholy.
Not from a loose tooth,
Not from spilled milk,
But from a notch in the chest.
Just below the breast bone.
Soon there was thunder,
There was a pounding rain.
The weather was unpredictable,
Just like the seasons,

These days.

But if anything,
This told me.

It was not my turn to cry.

a child, now a man fallen into a void,
found a hole in the fabrics of space and time...
stumbling along a winter night's retreat,
one of life's "easy day" times.





[i keep a notebook with me , that i use to write things out...
i had some trouble remembering today and have just about come full circle now.
eventually i had to stop reading and just think .. "why would i lie to MySelf?"]

the minute that i entered your coven
i groaned about how tired i was
how sick
and i kneeled at the bottom of your stairs
waited for your grace to allow me to continue
laid down on your bed
and realized i could not find your scent
buried in the pillows without covers
like a piece of art in the rain
without a tarp
but you wrapped your arm around me
and all i felt was the meat
and blood
and so i scratched at them
to make you happy.
the hair on your arms reminds me of the way any living creature appears
when the sun grazes its presence
at just the right angle.
every piece of you is pale
and pale - fragile
fragile - weak
but i could feel your muscle.
and that makes you a walking contradiction, my sweet.
your collar bones have not once been freckled by anything other than my bite
and specks of sang.
you are not allowed to break them
because he did the same
and you are not him.

In the summer
I stretch out on the shore
And think of you
Had I told the sea
What I felt for you,
It would have left its shores,
Its shells,
Its fish,
And followed me

I do not fear you, because, you
might take me over, but rather because,
if you leave me broken down and half formed.
Caught up in the passion of your love,
until you decide it never really meant that much to you,
then I fear I will forever wander the world,
sad and lonely, with only half of a heart.

Coffee is the Black Blood of the Universe
It Flows down through Time and Cultures
Creating, if not lasting Peace,
A working Truce
Between the Warring Factions
That are Humanity
And Mornings