You are
delicious
And I am
greedy.
You are
generous
And I am
needy.
You are
experienced
And I am
learning.
You are
flammable
And I am
burning.

It’s all right, zombie husband.
I didn’t like the dog.
Or the twins.
Seriously, all they did was cry.
It’s like, “shut up, already”,
You know?

If there was another way to say it;
An easy way for you to understand...
I would not be pouring out these words
In an attempt to paint a picture.
I wouldn't be desperate to bottle
My emotions and thoughts
Into these stained glass letters,
With the tin syntax lid.
Poking holes through the top
Of my head,
So you could see.
Firefly ideas.

I am a photographer of hearts and minds.
The blood red room holds
My negatives.
How can I make them easier for you to see?
The composition so sweet,
The lighting so contrasted with
The shadows hiding the everyday.

What I really want you to do is stop reading.
Go look into the eyes of a lover.
Go hold a child's hand while they sing.
Listen to the wind change.
Feel the pulse of a city.
Cry with old wrinkled skin
For youth and life, and hope.

That is what my poem means.
It is a pulsing picture
Held captive in rhetoric.

Everyday I see oranges on trees
Bright, juicy and
I think anxiously of the apple rotting slowly
On my kitchen counter
I'd rather eat it.

I think of peeling the banana
Riding in my car
And while it fills my stomach
And it could be called breakfast
I want my apple.

And the mango offered in a cafe
In the middle of the rainforest
On the side of a volcano tastes like heaven,
Grainy, juicy, ripe
And I think of my decaying apple.

My apple, my obsession
All I want now
Dangerous though it is
And I think of Eve and wonder
Does every woman have her apple?

I fear the way you love me:
That tender-touching kiss
Seducing me to nightly
Sink deep in your abyss.

Those smooth caresses take me
To places that I dread,
Your cunning fingers rouse me
To plan such lies ahead.

But while we writhe and tumble
In lust's hypnotic hold,
I fear the final stumble
That will see the truth unfold.

She says: the rain is beautiful

He thinks: I hate getting wet


She says: let's go for hot chocolate

He thinks: I just want to go home


She says: we should go hiking tomorrow

He thinks: I loathe crawling through the woods


She says: I love you

He thinks: she is beautiful


*


He says: yes it has its charm

She thinks: he is romantic


He says: that will warm us up

She thinks: he does everything I want


He says: anything you'd like my dear

She thinks: I'm so lucky we like the same things


He says: I love you too

She thinks: he is ugly

You bound strong sandals on my feet,
You gave me bread and wine,
And sent me under sun and stars,
For all the world was mine.

Oh, take the sandals off my feet,
You know not what you do;
For all my world is in your arms,
My sun and stars are you.

My forefathers gave me
My spirit’s shaken flame,
The shape of hands, the beat of heart,
The letters of my name.

But it was my lovers,
And not my sleeping sires,
Who gave the flame its changeful
And iridescent fires;

As the driftwood burning
Learned its jewelled blaze
From the sea’s blue splendor
Of colored nights and days.