Now again I can sleep once more
as I cling to the peace I've found at last --
no longer do my eyes struggle to close,
awaiting the dissipation of his breath
as he slowly ventures into sleep's abyss.

A nightly routine of restless evenings
awaiting the daybreak of morning sun,
a familiar comfort of light's senseful grace
caressing my wilted palms, pruned from tension,
drying underneath the ultraviolet cast from above.

At last I've discovered insomnia's antidote,
the mournful release of his quivering hand
ejecting me into a void of newfound rest;
trust is the apparatus of sleep's emergence,
and I've trusted none as I now do myself.

I looked into his eyes while he said his truth
laying in the next room, on the bed
Receiving; then believing, what was expressed-
my glass white, while his red.

Alone

It Feels More Than It Really Is,

Desolate abandoment
The void left by, taught through
The faces I would turn towards
And truest love I knew;

Yet away from me, unhappily
Or indifferent, themselves have turned
Fixed, never to meet within my gaze
My life or their cautionary tale, decerned

Falling in love with many a friend
From very early on
Where nothing matters like they do,
No matter that they've gone.

No matter that the majority
And best parts of our live's real years,
Are spent relapsing in their memory,
As their aura disappears.

It Really Is More Than It Feels

Alone

distant stars do their thing
irrespective of our gaze

their fire burns in black
until they too become one with the deep black

many stars have come and gone
taking a guess of course

a hermits candle flame
does the same.

a bird slid into the wind's
bright paths, awoke
the sound of morning, the
only elegant sound. i sprinkled you
you with the roots of the rain and
with a song sweetened by
sunlight and although you were stunted
and your blue-blossom wings were broken,
and the very earth swam in dark
floods of tears, that little piece of
love was a kingdom as reachable
as your hand touching mine.