No, nothing,
Just that we're not,
And loved,
Until that last.

Yeah, I shook you -
With my hidden me:
Heal me,
Touch me,
Reach me,
Speak to me.

As I am!

        Masked we showed our hearts,
And ******
        Tender and rough.
While hidden  
        - different kinds of hurt.

Words like
jealousy,
obsession
and betrayal
Have a place.
I know their pain,
Those ugly feelings,
Hotwired into my brain,
As the body's lust
Now corporeal to me.

Yeah, I shook you -
With my hidden me:
Heal me,
Touch me,
Reach me,
Speak to me.

As you are!

I liked your weathered palms,
Chapped with art
Their grain a balm.
Whose sandy discontent,
Soothed my psyche
With their grit.

Yeah, I shook you -
With my hidden me:
Heal me,
Touch me,
Reach me,
Speak to me.

Unmasked!

Filling the insatiable void,
Dragging myself around.
Dealing with stuff,
Putting a face on the exigencies of work.
A friend is wonderful.
Mateos sits with me as we weep into the emptiness.

And there are so many ways.
Anecdotes to deal with the turmoil:
Words.
But the madness of a moment transcends the present into a hostile reality.
The truth
- of holding what we love.

But the heart speaks,
Hear it!
Or lose it.
And all our cunning is noise when we hear its call.

Everything is clear.
With or without?
Feelings, ugly ones such as envy, jealousy and doubt.
Have their moment.
And peak.

Alone,
We are untouchables.
How enraging to see the one you love,
Unstiching the patchwork that was our cover.
For in an instant,
We are undone.

The poet in me washes away
The calling card of the hero
Fades away like age
Tossing the leaves in the summer breeze
For the old people
With my hand
I look at the secret spot of poets
It's under a sycamore tree
Full of metaphor and rhyme
My hand is raking leaves
As I search for my deeply buried
Poetry