all I ever wanted

was someone to
help
me

make the bed

I got drunk on you
without
tasting your lips.
Breathless
with
a passing glance,
your words
frozen icicles
piercing my heart.
Cementing our
forever
with nothing.
I free fall
once
again
forever expecting
a heart
to catch me.

Wild ice eyes see into me
Feeling, longing
No.

Need him
right now right now

Want him
right now right now

It turns into many hims
right now right now

But there is only
one
him

I have all of him

it's 1 am and I am wide awake

missing, yearning for you

missing the way you laid your head on my chest
as I held you in my arms

Relishing our hearts pressed together
beating side by side
beating in tandem
drumming into lovers oblivion

I miss those deep brown eyes
Your plush lips
The way you smell and taste
I got high off you

I dare even mention that

I love you

and will continue to love you
from afar

I've always heard when you love someone
Let them go

and how this keeps me up at night

disposable contacts
flat-faced to night stands
rims upturned on the bathroom counter
crumbled in my jean pockets
the evidence is clear
your mark is forever left on me

roaring river

deep inside

rush forth

flow fiercely

radiate strength

~

hooked in a riptide

direct me
to

a new adventure

another challenge

a second chance

~

buoyant

immobilized

i surrender
to you

to ultimately determine

the destination

I was lured to the diversions of paradise
by the lethal gleam in your eye

Swaying to rhythms of the wild isle
I lost myself in your embrace,
seduced by freedom and simple desires

I cried out for you in pleasure
as your tongue caressed my inner thighs,
completely disarmed
by the ****** unraveling

And I enjoyed every ******* moment.

If it not for reality,
we would fly among the stars

Why is it
that I
feel closest to you
when this
simple timestamp
appears before me?

Can you explain this digital phenomenon
that verifies your existence?

That you do
indeed
breath and eat and dream;
that radio silence
is
the most empty sound of all?

Why is it
that I
feel closest to you
when this
simple timestamp
appears before me?

Good morning, Sun. It is good to see you

You wake me ever so gently
and call me to begin this new day

I like the night you see but something about morning
calls to me

Perhaps it is my love for this quiet valley
and the feeling that while everyone is still asleep,
I am sewing  intentions for an extraordinary day

And before your golden rays kiss the sky
I believe even
I
wake before you

Good morning, Sun. Let us begin

i bathe in serene
sleepy mountainside ledges
kissed by lips of fall

Her breath is the lavish humidity
She sings with the symphonies of crickets
Her tears are delicate rainfalls, washing the silence
Her breathing is the wind that shivers the palm trees

She calls out to you
Wraps you in Her arms
Cleanses you,
Heals you

She is serene
She is abundant
She is warmth
She is Love

Mother Bali, watch over me always
Deliver me Home

She is soft buttery goodness

Her golden curls embalm her in Heavenly light

She slathers on her goodness and brightens the darkness

Her sticky drawl is a hymn

She is a warm, familiar sweetness

She is home

I send this track

Out to the Universe

Praying its echoes

Reach the farthest corners of the Earth

To reach you



I want the melody

To seep into your skin

The synthesizer

To shake your ribs

Each percussive meter

Synced to your beating heart



And as the music fades

And the ethereal chimes

Tickle the silence

Imagine my fingers

Tracing your lips

Pulling you in for a taste of bliss



I hope this track

Transcends the airwaves

That my light

Enraptures you

And embalms you

In Affection

do not read too much into it

this glowing neon door frame
mounted on this white wall
is not significant or special

it does not speak to social issues
or spur political discussions

it will not call upon you to reflect on your life,
your decisions, your mistakes

it is simply a vibrant structure
buzzing from high voltage currents

again, don't read into it

it's exactly what it appears to be

The sweet exhalations of my Caroline girl
fog the windows of our wood-lined station wagon
moving down US 20.
Her doughball palms and fudgy fingers pressed against the thick glass,
her bright pink hat nods as the
snowglobe snowflakes flurry to the ground.
Strapped into her car seat, her plump legs kick forth
left - right
left - right
left - right;
a staccato rhythm forming from a pair of Barbie light-up snowboots
that beat the back of my driver's seat.
We are shooting forward,
straight into the horizon. Into the unknown and away from what was.
The blush sunset and amber clouds foretell
the future.

In the middle of a relentless snowstorm,
hidden in the shadows and clouds,
an oscillating flame
inhales the wind's howls
and churns amongst the gusts of snow
to produce a relentless beam
that refuses to atrophy.

The flame lingers in the blizzard
and brushes off the beatings
until a stillness forms
in the thick of fear.

The snowflakes sizzle,
the flame sears the crystalline stars;
but a pure reform
refreshes the turbulence
and allows it to dwindle
for one more day.

I can already feel it coming on
The Free Fall
A slow moving catapult into oblivion
I will lose myself
In the black hole of tangled limbs
And in grasps so perfectly sculpted
Michelangelo could've carved it
Waking up amalgamated
Into the evening's assumed position
Your eyes are grey and clouded
Like the dawning of this day
Please forgive me
I know not what I do

the shower is on
the water never ceases
and I have to ****

I've been told
That this will come to pass
That feelings disintegrate
That fissures fill themselves
That it will all get better in time

Every tired saying
Every cliché that's ever been vomited
I eat up quick then regurgitate

I guess those sayings really are there for a reason
To explain what really can't be said

I'm in the beginning, middle, and end
Waiting for the fade-away
A broken record with a sad tune
Ascending to the apex of steadiness

I'm embalmed in pine and simmering in luster
floating along a french toast breeze
as clear blue skies echo a songbird's warble.

Steam curls and twists into snake skins
as it unfurls from a cracked green mug,
steaming my neck and face.

A cool smile emanates certainty
and I resolve to the emotion,
my best self reflecting off onyx Ray Bans.

I am adoration and passion, filled to the brim;
clogged, quenched, settled;
completely fulfilled in a mountainous paradise.

Don't you ever
lose
your ability to dream
and
never stop searching
for the light
that lives within you

Even if it is
at the bottom of the barrel,
among the residue
of trial and error

The lotus grows in murky waters
With roots strong in the silt,
its beauty culminates
as it springs forth
from the dark lagoon

Promise
you will never stop
That you will self-actualize, hope,
aspire to be

Practicality kills the soul,
the possibility
of a glimmering tomorrow
is the fuel
for life's journey

I'm going to wake you up,
shake you up,
and leave you with
the scent of Morning Wood
fresh on your lips.

Tumbled and tangled
in the smoke of cedar,
we'll listen to the whistling of the
aged-redwood.

Quivering artisan candles
neither match nor compare to
our warmth,
and the best scent's throw
is time wasted
until June 4th.

Summertime is right around the corner
as on-again-off again beams
shoot forth from hypnotic clouds,
and tickle frosted mountains.
Their immensity booms from a substantial deck,
but their peaks still tremble
from forces under the threshold of awareness.
How grand you are;
to stand so strong
and anchor us to this beautiful land;
to sew dreams of hope deep into our souls;
to tattoo upon our hearts the concept of transience.
In admiration,
and apprehension,
we carry on with our lives with a single wish
to feel as relevant as you;
constantly mystified by your powers
that diminish us to mere specks on a landscape.
We are eternal wanderers,
mere travelers in your hands,
and wish only to be guided
by grace.

Heart hope gurgling
From a gagged symposium
Fused by hollow cheese

This is an eastward trek on repeat.

                                             A tape cloaked in static,
    clicking and turning over itself.

A departed decade's daydream
                                     whirling towards Lands of Plenty.

                                                         With nebulas dot dot dashing into Eternity,
eyes are locked on the horizon as plasmic ghouls
             gravitate and spindle from a restless breeze.

                                                                     Why probe
                                                                     another world;
                                 Let the space jazz
                                 lose your mind;
Slide down the
Wormhole
as asteroids
light the Moon?

In the zone, everything begins to shine.
                                                                          Feel goods
                                                                 engrained
                                                         in verbal tides.
                                                        A tale
                                     abundant
in
sweet illumination.

Crystal clear compounds
Tarnished
With a sloppy Stain

An imperfect existence
Imprinted
Upon pure provenance

Reflections
Warped and wrenched
Into a gruesome
Unaccredited vision

Scrape the crust
Of this placid pool

Retract
Marvel
Bygone hygiene

Crystal clear
No more

Fuchsia butterflies dancing south
of opulent skies
signify yet another year
has come and passed;

There is nothing left for no one
but a crystal kiss upon these rolling hills;

The colors on the horizon
drained of flesh,
the bourbon in this stained mug
licked away,
and the messy red curls
atop my head
lay in piles
on the floor.

Ringing static
undisturbed,
an ocular void
resides in the mirror

When I close my eyes,
I see a serene aquatic view
and messages in bottles growing
smaller and smaller,
melting into the horizon.

I see the Sun
catching the glass' delicate curvatures
and casting amber sparkles
back to the shore where I
stand firmly
in the sand.

For two hundred and forty six sunrises,
the hungry tides
swallowed and buried my feet over and over again
as they cast themselves upon me.
I remained
unmoved
as twilight waxed and waned.
When soft pinks, oranges, and yellows were weakened
with the onset of a deep indigo,
a longing for night
festered
and ****** me into its mesmerizing abyss.
When a single gull's call pierced the sky
his lonely cry called me
to find solace in isolation.
And as the ocean oohed and awed over a cool breeze,
I let it run through me
and did not shudder
from its ghost-like impulse.

I feel the waves grabbing at me to pull me in,
and
I want to give in to their force.
I want them to carry me away.
I want to feel their shifts in energy, and
I want to float atop them
as the Sun shines upon me and warms my face.
I'm longing to be carried to lands not quite breached
on any wave
that would be willing
to take me...

Anywhere.

But I am still
motionless.
Cemented
in ever moving grains.
Forever sinking down into the sand
unable to attain the fluidity
that is
the Sea.

you need to be more like what's his name that guy sitting in the corner ask him a question and he knows the answer you need to take some grammar lessons this is the stuff that you need to know*                          
                                 ­                                                                 ­                       doer

cheap beer,
hand-rolled cigarettes,
crisp air slicing the night,
the divide crumbles beneath the beastly black ball
plunked into a crook.
gentle expressions liberated
from an
anchored breeze
as minds intertwine under the
beaming orb of night.
bedrock activities in conjunction with
still, articulating hearts
mimic
an innocent jubilee
that only morning knows of its arrangement.

I call off the night with a growling, thunderous appetite for affection.

Just when I think my brain may explode from overstimulation, I encounter a yearning for an uncomplicated embrace.

I am in awe of these beautiful, strange people. Magnificent spirits worthy of everything their heart desires.

With a tightly clenched jaw and throbbing eyes, I am overwhelmed with wonder. Magic comes about in an abrupt fashion.

Falling fast
From high above
The dawning
Delirium
Faltering
from Ego
Bitter In Taste
Sweet in Action
And this is
When
You must
Jump
Knowing that
Soon
The Ground
Will meet
You

from the top
of your head to the tips of your hairy toes,
you exude an unquestionable
brilliance

the theories
streaming forth from your noggin
leave a trail of droplets wherever you wander, and i,
skedaddling behind
you,
wait for the remnants
to fade into me

i yearn for your beautiful mind to be infused into my own,
to see what you see
to ponder your thoughts,
vanishing away from what had been
and pursue the absoluteness
of a sitting duck

I like watching you in the kitchen.

Your motions are swift,
from the stove to the food processor
to the sink to the dishwasher
it's one seamless flurry.
A graceful hustle.

Country music is playing in the background.
You don't know all the words,
but every once in a while
a lyric escapes your honeyed mouth.
I smile
because it's a line filled with weight.
A heavy pondering
with careful reflection.
I can see that in your smile.

As I sit here,
eyeing you with adoration,
you approach me
with a petite sample on a silver fork.
I do not hesitate
to open my mouth,
like a baby bird begging for a secondhand worm.

Just like everything you have ever given me,
it is marvelous.
It's of good quality and impeccable flavor,
ladled forth
from a generous heart.

I like it here in your domain.
My eyes will feast on this view
forever.

And yes I lover her,
young passenger.
Contagious resolve spills over
every side of her baby face.
She walks alongside ghosts,
marveling the air's open wounds
and smelling the mystery
behind the songs the wind plays.
The way she moves
is like knives and sugar
freckled with fumbles
and quick as stallions.
My heart silken
and she
the theme of my mega-mix.

A present
of citrus flames and gorgeous warmth
wrapped up in ribbons
of thick gray trimming
nicely disguise her demon-like temperament.
Callused digits and snapping embers
snarling a ferocious alarm,
her gnashing luminous teeth
latch on to unprotected areas and leave a bite
that kills all
curiosity  
behind her
ravenous energy.
Charring and blistering the helpless prey,
her malevolent laughter torments from afar
while she quickly retreats
to her den,
nibbling her bedtime snack.
She dispenses poison like a teenage lover leaves hickeys,
even the most common and revered remedies scarcely pacify the
scars.
And yet she is unapologetically herself,
brazen,
raw.
She is magnetic.
And untouchable.

I like hearing my own voice.

I like its rich tone and sultry air.
Some people called it a little husky for a woman's
but squeaky voices
make people cringe.
I love the feeling of beautiful words rolling off my tongue,
creating intonations that are completely and uniquely
my own,
and re-rehearsing my free verse
so it sounds absolutely perfect
to me.

Yes,
I love hearing my own voice.
I find the greatest joy in listening to my own discourse.
But, sometimes I don't because my voice can also be my
worst enemy.

From a young age,
discrepancies arose in in my communication.
Repetition, prrrrrooooolongation, and ab-   normal stoppages
plagued my speech.
Even with hours of therapy and annunciation drills,
I still couldn't escape
from choking
on my own words.

A quiet child wants nothing more than to demand attention
by speaking boldly.
A voice w-w-worth listening to that is eager to share
hides behind the fear
of stumbling on
little t-teeny letters.
And children are the cruelest of beings.
Their critique on anything abnormal
leaves deep scars.

I wanted to read out loud in class,
be an actress, a poet.
Maybe it's because I love the sound of my own voice,
but with all of these activities revolving around it,
it is laborious to have a
stutter.

borderline obsessed,
reach-for-the-stars-over-the-fence
with a side of nausea & self-loathing.
bus side advertisements like Post-It Notes,
Manolos and Choos berserk in clouds of smoke and storms of ***.
lots of ***.
rice pudding, saltine ******* sandwiches
and coloring with breakfast banter
illuminate a beige bed of two sullen indents
draped in love

Bedhead hair is the best look,
an inferno of dreaded curls
knotted and frazzled on high.
Shuffling into the kitchen
she finds her way to the coffee ***
before any kind of greeting
dares escape her sleepy smile.
With freckles resembling
a ******* masterpiece
my eyes grow green(er) with envy;
that gene never dominated with me.
"So what time did you get in last night?"
she asks with a wide grin.

And so the Interrogation begins...

Wasting the day away
in four walls of eggshell
and sheep-skin blankets
and translucent light
Everything white to emit neutrality

Bathing in media forms obtained from the library
I am a sponge
soaking up these materials
to wring them out as
catharsis

Cognition wanders
to you and the smell of fresh-cut grass
but I cast them away,
turn up the music
and execute a two-step

it's different.
not foreign, nor organic.
tongue flicking and suckling at her sweet spots,
she moans and whimpers in response to my touch.
she is a smooth, warm creature
wrapped in alabaster
the epitome of comfort.
i see the appeal.

I can no longer say that I am
jolted.
There is nothing more to be
added
or
mended.
What
came to pass was ice
melted
by the Saharan sun;
annihilated,
forever
vanished.
But even from its infancy when things were good and true,
the foremost duty was
always
truancy.
I can no longer say that I am
jolted:
my indifference is the
green light.