soft suns sail across,

a red star-crossed sky,

and some night,

i won't know what it is.

souls shine, no less beautiful,

then those lights lost in their height,

came to me in tiny dreams,

the kind that try to let me breathe,

when the morning comes,

i wont know what they mean.

i could love a million things,

but not a single one would love me.

that's the maker's mark,

it's meant to be,

if only sober men could repeat the sea.

but surely that man isnt me.

the world's silliest man is treating me to *** & breakfast.

giggles galore & in the early afternoon, he will be gone again.

you wouldn't ask the world's silliest man to take anything too seriously.

he does what he does well, and so, too, do i —

we get down to funny business, and it's nice.

it's nice, letting him be good & sweet & secret, in my eyes at breakfast.

he isn’t serious. you can only trust a silly man with silly things.

Stan is  ninety three on  this date    
still waiting at Heaven’s gate
where his Love
went on before him.

Some day soon
he will join June
Where the light
will never dim.

Time has past since
he hugged her last
now, the pain
unreal at times.

He knows she lives
where God’s Love gives
us Peace and
love so sublime.

And now….

His mission fulfilled
In what God willed
the race will end
never more to roam.

He made the right choice
The Angels rejoice
God’s forever Love with June
Stan will be going home.

Never more to roam.

(C) 06-14-2021
John L Stevens
Now 93

There are 7.6 billion people
In this world.
Behind every set of eyes
A different universe.
I’m in love with yours
But not you
Anymore.
You made mine
*****.
The strings
Of lights
On the trees
Make me sad.
We put them up
In December
And they make us feel
like basement
Temperature
Flat beer juice,
And then January comes
Like law enforcement
To the rager you held
While your parents
Were in Doore County.
And everyone leaves the party.
And we all take the lights down.
This is
1 of 7.6 billion.

I am not the lion
I am the impala.
I am the cabinet
in the kitchen
left wide open.
I am here
for so much of my life
setting alarms
on my phone
for the next morning.
The ash tray
is filled
with exactly 73 cigarettes,
but not exactly 73 memories,
and not exactly 73 regrets.

in your arms, i find warmth.
i find 90s grunge band posters and fairy lights entangled on the walls with the scent of burning incense that has been lingering in the air around my nose for quite some time—a sensation of bliss between my cupids bow & chin when the sun touches my swollen lips with her soft & delicate ones—how does one tell the angel of the clouds to bring a storm down?

i find a remedy in our tomorrows
and a home in our forevers.

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote