some might say it was tragic,
others, a miracle,
but i died once,
a long time ago.
my spirit was crushed in the avalanche-
an all-consuming nothingness
that shut out the light,
squandered my existence,
and extinguished the passion inside me.
i didn't stay that way,
rising again,
a new resilience found,
a decision to press onward,
furthering myself,
testing myself,
pushing my limits of understanding.
that is what death will do for you-
it will show you how to live again.

this me-you thing works.
i don't know how, but it does.
it's growing, it's changing,
there are bumps,
there are cuts and scrapes,
there are bruises,
there are hurts,
there are times when I'm slow to understand,
there are times when I'm faster than you,
there are hugs,
there are kisses,
there are passionate nights,
there are distant ones, too,
there are fights,
there are make-ups,
there is longing,
there is forgiveness,
there is loss,
there is gain.
there are a lot of things that go into this me-you thing,
but this me-you thing works.
i don't know how, but it does.
i like it.

there is no pain
like knowing what is coming,
feeling the crushing weight
of something i can do nothing about
no matter how hard i try.
it's exhausting.
it makes me want to dig deep inside myself and go there to hide,
refusing to deal with the world, with this life,
and all the people in it any longer.
i can't help them,
i can't stop them.
but i feel everything they do,
before they do.
especially their pain.

they were made for holding on,
for building and carrying,
for taking the heavy things that others cannot.

they were made for war,
for destruction and killing,
for fighting against another in battles that change the course of men.

they were made for gentleness,
for caressing satin cheeks
and wiping away tears.

they were made for healing,
for applying salve,
for deftly bandaging wounds of those who could not bandage their own.

they were made for safety,
to hug and hold close,
for catching tears of those loved ones who were breaking.

they were made to love,
these big strong hands of mine -
and they're pretty good at it.

ten words.  
nine are wasteful encumberances;
one will do.
"enough."

i love to watch you
in the pre-dawn hour,
your nakedness is your purest self-
delicately crossed legs, a blanket draped
over your hip,
your ******* inviting me
to come closer for a taste,
to fuel the desire  that waits inside,
longing to be set free
with a kiss, a touch, a tongue.
I don't know if it's my imagination, now,
but your scent wafts to me,
each part of you different -
your neck, your arms,
that spot just above your belly -
and the place below.
I long for you, my lover,
in that time stronger than most -
to connect our spirits in a single moment,
sharing the sweet ****** embrace
that lovers know,
and the release of the spirit
that revels in our morning ritual.

movement is slow,
deliberate action,
practiced until perfected,
then practiced more,
the slow forging of the mind and body into -
into what?
A weapon,
a tool,
a method,
a philosophy?
Why not all of them at once?
Memorizing the steps,
the sequence,
aligning each and every moment with precision,
there is no room for failure.
Failure is the difference between kings and gods.