Theres no better place I'd rather be than here, now
I know at times I'm hard to read and can come off nonchalant.
At times like this I'd lay my head on your shoulder and drift off
into the topic of any and everything.
Acknowledging the hello that leads to perhaps my favorite getaway.
The acquaintance of head to shoulder.
A declaration of perfect vacation.
A daiquiri of various flavor, nothing hidden from view.
Close but far away from distraction.
The embrace, resonating in the shutter of your voice.
A silver spoon to a bowl of thought.
A reflection mirrored in an half eaten spoon of sherbet.
Holding spoonfuls of you in my eyes.
Wondering about in each layered flavor, no longer restricted. rippling in wave after wave of melting mountain.
Orange and green.
Belonging to one another in a way never thought possible.
Unfolding deep in a valley found between ears
You and I, becoming like clouds in the horizon.
You and I
Laid on a silver spoon
Dipped in a bowl of thought.
Half eaten
Side by side without a single thing to do

What I wouldn't give
to lay with you again.
To feel the push and pull of you
against my bends and bumps again;
and meet in soft and solid places,
your sweet urgency,
as it demands my perfect patience
with burning subtlety.

I long to know your length again
Along the length of me,
and measure quiet patterns
soft and slow and endlessly,
to feel the aching shivers
in the shallows of your spine,
where shaking palms just can't resist,
resting for a time.

Please breathe me in again,
and whisper truths about my body,
with your hands and with your hips,
as if I’m everything and nothing,
wilder than the limits of my skin.
A human Aphrodite,
simply lying there beside you
inhibitions slowly dying

But that is all we ever were
Two bodies close and buzzing
Lost in silent revelry
Of touching without falling.

Smiling, she glances in the mirror
her skirts falling gently into place.
There are her feminine riches,
simple in their daily splendor;
waving from the settling lace.

They, it doesn’t matter who,
could search the endless layers
and never truly see her;
though she hides within the bluish
fabric’s seams and tender tapers

Like legs or lips, she’ll never
part from her sweet sanities
for any sort of ‘gentleman’.
So rich she stays in clever
garbs, seen only in her vanity

“As old as man,
Way back before the past…”
Said by the historian in the perpetual cemetery,
His book and ours open on the same blank page
“What is to become of us,
we are just memories of sound in a silent room”


The image of man
Tearing down his own tower of babel
with an “Eloi!, Eloi!” to himself
Grasping at the light
Without thought of the fire
All felony and no fingerprint
forever

And I watch
And I watch
And after my illness, I walk alone
And notice the words of children
collecting sun in a bucket

To 80 years from Spanish misery
To Syrian sand and tears
Mixing with the shores of ****** and Liverpool, London and Lemuria
Nothing gathered
Nothing gained

We slip further into the walls of parliament
Slip into the walls of web, corridors of code
And hear of occultist cataclysm
and those so intelligent all before them is dismissed
(“eloi, eloi, I am eloi!”)

In cold grey-green bathrooms
of flatblocks or apartment buildings
licking seasalt and gunpowder
from the fingers of our Atlantic cousins
In human skin suits