in your love,
flame-roses,
seas of eternal summer,
the sweetest fires of
the heart.

in your love
clouds like sweeping rivers
dark caves of storm,
gold magics as bright as a lamp.

in your love
a wish to hold me forever
desire so strong
that i submit to your will.

in your love
more love than i can believe
emotions like the wildest seas
crazy desire
poetry that melts.

in your love
the winds of passion
burning
summer breezes
light as a rose,
me fainting
with pleasure.

in your love
a love that will last forever
joys, beautiful in their rose-paper
deaths,
seas so wild the wind blows.

in your love
your heart gold
my heart blue
emotions like dreams
so close the passion melts.

i sold my soul to tomorrow
and it told me i could fly.

A young heart,
like a fresh wound,
hurts more, when exposed
to the world of sour tongues,
bitter eyes and bland brains

A young heart, hurts
like a healing wound
that stretches to
the demands of life

There's no home,
when you are down
There's no home,
even when you are up

-Kaya

happy New Years to
the girls like me,
who forgive and forget as if
yesterday didn't hurt
and tie knots over wounds
like they lace up shoes


happy New Years to
all the boys who still cry
at night, over
their fathers who don't love them
and things they were never
taught to say

and happy New Years to
everyone in between, to those
who can't tell black from
white,
good from bad, and still don't
know
how to dress at night

tomorrow might be better.

like to see what they see
I'd like to be what I'm going to be
right now, not then, not later,
not someday.
Just when I thought I was going to be a bad picture,
they bet their money on me,
have so much hope for me,
know me, believe in me
think of me as some great thing.

I disagree
They insist.
They spend their money to see me.
I tell them beauty is relative,
but they make way
for me
and I indulge
in my fame.

This isn't the love I want,
but they love me anyway.

I'll remember you in new ways
like the creatures of the night
remember daylight
the way old oak branches
reach for the sky
growing a home within themselves
growing from nothing at all
in pending loneliness
many moons ago
a nocturnal acquaintance
formed his own memory
a mere shadow in disguise
the ghost of
tomorrow's sun

is like cotton twine,
if you put a match

to string, it will
burn away,

but if dipped
in beeswax

the flame will be
slow and sure.