I'm lying on the bed, it's a cold day.
I'm in my robe,
and some blue sweats
and the black tee shirt I wore to work
at 4am.  
i'm struggling with consciousness when she comes into the room
and wants to talk
about wine
and the new decorative fan she brought home
"What was the brand of wine our neighbors bought us" she asked
           I don't know
The cat jumps on the bed
"You don't feel like talking"
I'm tired I said
Not quite with it right now I added
"Well, I'll let you off the hook.  You don't have to go buy tampons."

well
you all have a piece
of my soul
now don't you
go ahead
use it for a coaster
or a dog eared bookmark
for one of your ****** crotch novels
use it in a pinch
when your nose runs ******
or to cleanup after your lover
you have a piece of my soul
and I have this bottle
and the words that explode out
and splatter onto the counter
and onto my suede shoes
staining my freshly pressed shirt
you have a piece of my soul
feed it to your cat
that piece probably tastes like fish
while some of them reek of ***
like the dark girl I once loved
the one I would die for
the one who took the biggest piece
and wiped it all over town
you have a piece of my soul
and though it isn't worth a whole lot
I thought you might like one
for a good laugh
when you show your friends

let me be your dying sun and you the parched Earth beneath me longing for the taste of water on your lips.

in a sylvan mountain meadow
beside my house
is a copse of incense cedar and
live oak
under which I imagine a fairy
circle to be
I sometimes imagine watching you
dance there
under the shuttered branches
kisses of silver moonlight
touch upon your shoulders
pale in the electric night
and tiny flowers bloom
under faint footfalls
as you dance
with the intensity of elegance and
grace

fireflies dancing in the garden as the moon lords over a still night. in the distance the train sounds it's arrival and I breathe you in.

a canary yellow house stands a silent vigil over a garden and the rumble of the sea below. the sun is dying beneath the waves.