What do we know of life and death
   ands time and love
when all we truly have is this moment
   how does tomorrow
      ever become today
         and what happened yesterday
       ten years ago
    is no closer or farther away
than the last syllable echoing in our heads

so what is time other than an illusion
   and a thief
     and a liar

do we breath in just to exhale
or is there something more important
to the function of our lungs
is there something more than oxygen
we need floating in the air
something that is as easy
and important to give
as it is to take and receive

Is the secret to this life
we so often abuse and neglect...

is the meaning to it all

so simple that
it is so horribly cliché

And with what great arrogance
we let our egos
crown ourselves intelligent
and place more worth
on our wants and greeds
than any other living thing
and then like a vicious virus
spread like a plague
and destroy anything that is in our way

we are smart enough
to see the end coming
but somehow lack the wisdom
and courage to change our ways

out with the good
double down on the bad

So what do we know of life and death
   and time and love
     as we long for immortality
        in our deaths
     some existential heaven
    of an afterlife
  a divine blessing
of unending love

yet waste this moment
   waiting for tomorrow
      to become today

She was a plague of desire
a dance of syllables
just out of the reach of his tongue
a name that was a prayer
written on the skin of his heart

a language he couldn’t speak
except when  lost in the trance
of a dream boiling over
with the lust running mad in his blood

a fever burning inside his bones
to feel her tremble against his lips
and wandering fingertips
that travel the forbidden paths
along her spines skin of pleasure

the quite hush of gods making flesh
to be blessed with the secrets
of honey and blood
to be poured over
and flow from the pulse
and the rhythm
of the lost art of making love
while dancing in beds
made out of the shadows of sin

a quite lullaby roaring
from under his pillow
that made his ears desperate
with longing to hear
the songs that play
from within the cage of her ribs

a place of hunger
that could only be satisfied
when left with wanting more
of the blood and the flesh
and the body of her rapture
when lost in the euphoria
of finding love under blankets
woven from lust
and where no pleasure
is stained with the guilt
or definition of sin

Let me peel off your sunday best
and dress you down in morning light
over the curves of your soft skin
and paint you in a day dream
of little black dresses on a friday night
with lace stockings and come here

and my

     my

   my high heels

that bring kings and fools down
to begging on their knees


I could worship every inch of you
no matter the view
if you were the sun over heaven
or a grain of salt carried by an ant
a saint or a *****
queen or a vagrant
dressed to the nines
or down in the ditches
I’ve seen you in places
where beauty is found under the illusion
of the flesh worn out over our bones

I want to devour you
and give birth to a new emotion of lust
with hands capable of dissecting
the last layer of skin
on a heart beat
                      
                        beat
    
beat me into submission
let’s ride out this transmission
beyond the hand and touch
of what only mankind
would be ****** enough
to label as sin
and be the stars in a home movie
not safe to be watched
by minds lesser than gods
swimming between limbs tangled
and blurred and penetrating
while turning blood pumping
into the sweetness of honey flowing

      and drip
  
    drip

  dripping

into polls where we
transcend the limits of our imagination
and dive deeper than a last breath
and urgent gasp
of lost and found pleasure
outside of times understanding of mortality
and the endless sight of eternity
and the true nature of life’s lust is exposed
as nothing more or less
than the survival of love

She wove the morning light into a dress
the colors of daydreams
and smiled a mischievous smile
full of wonder and love and magic
she could steal your heart
with just a glance
and when she did
she would treat it
only with grace and kindness
and give it wings
and place it gently back in your chest
lighter and more beautiful than before
for having been held by her hands

Sometimes I wonder...

   if you and I...

     would be comfortable...

       being alone....

         while just sitting....

          near each other...

            breathing easy...

             slow....

              no destination....

                listening to the silence...

             in between the sounds...

           of our hearts beating...

         a solitary pair...

       alone together...

     no love to feed...

   no human needs...

  two players...

on a single stage...

no winds of worry...

   no words of rage...

     no climbing hope...

       just sand slipping...

        starlight fading...

          dimming into darkness....

         wondering...

       why...

     are...

   we...

  all...

so...

comfortable...


  being . .  



          
       alone.

She made the little black dress
more beautiful than it actual was
and it became more than
pieces of fabric and thread
cut and shaped to hang and flow
over her body as she walked

it became the sound of music
found in dreams where the night glowed
in the slow burning embers
only found in flowers that bloomed
from the heart of eternity
and love was a ship lost at sea
with no destination meant to be found

and the passengers rested easy
and drank heavily
and danced freely
and laughed heartily
and wrote a story in a language
only they would know

She did more than
just wear the little black dress
she wove it into magic and wonder
tore it apart at the seams
and reconstructed it
to a blanket of night
and a dream of stars falling in love

Dear friend... I know I don’t call as often as I should... and lets be honest we can just about say, I dont call at all and I am sorry I am not better at keeping in touch.  I know we all get tired, we all work and a lot of us have jobs we don’t necessarily like, but we have to survive through the ******* parts of life to get by.  So we put in our forty hours a week, or more... and the end of the day comes too soon and we still have too much left to do and we fall into the routine of tomorrow, I’ll call tomorrow or for sure this weekend... and **** comes up, not important ****...just small distractions and maybe a little insecurity or excuses and we don’t or I don’t.... and months go by and years turn into more years and I haven’t heard your voice on the phone or in person and I think, this weekend... this weekend... but then the weekend ends and next week ends and its been another year.  And trust me, I ******* miss you, I really do... all of you.  And maybe I will call... one day... but if I dont, know that I love you and I am grateful for whatever time we spent together that allowed me to become your friend, for whatever it was that made my heart open and grow and forever hold a space for you to be a part of it.  I can still hear your voice as clears in my memory as if you were sitting here now and it brings the same warmth and comfort as any hug a grandmother might give us.  I hope we both live long enough to see each other again, to talk about absolutely nothing important and to laugh about the things that seem to big and cumbersome to hold on our own and I hope I don’t forget to tell you I love you when we do.  When the day comes when we have no choice but to say goodbye, to whichever one of us escapes this life first, to whoever finds out what comes next next, I hope of all the things we might take with us... I hope it will be the love we shared.  

And on a side note, I know I rarely answer my phone, but if you call and I am awake, or if you wake me up, I will and I will be happy to hear your voice and I will tell you I love you...