We are elaborate animals made of wood
earth, flowing like water into the veins
of the sky.

The sun being a fist of lava, and the night
being an enticing molar—we are
a succession of tides, being swallowed
by successions of day; and how beautifully
we wilt in the presence of joy.

The moon may be nothing
but a luminous
stone

and to eat the poetry of it
is how one chokes
on love

but the romance of morning
is that if by midnight
you are alive, that is joy.

In the black spheres of another’s cavernous
eyes I lost myself amidst the seep of my own
light patterned into strange foreign orbs

drinking heavily of I
am borne on the winds of imagined hands
sculpting me awake. where I can dream-in
the voids between lust, where the nothing
seems happy, the night is my friend

in the convex meniscus of another’s iris
perhaps I can dream of rebirth in the titrating
wound in the womb of lust

makes my eyes search the ether. In the
womb of my lust there is wind in my wings.
In the womb of my lust there is more

to be found. to be woken into equilibrium
perhaps I must abandon the forked tongue
of independence, so that fanged loneliness

can die of happiness. the snake becomes
a docile bird when fed. the castle of self
becomes a womb in the kingdom
of entwined, sleeping hands. we are born

many.

sometimes i forget
how i have grown to own my skin
and i am bigger than what i was trained to be

sometimes that training kicks in
and i am just curleys wife,
flashing ankles
trying to soak up leers
the same way young men
graciously accept accolades.

i wish i could say it at least
leaves an oily film
or the burning of bile
in the back of my throat but
it doesnt.

it's thrilling!
the way the wind whips my messy hair
against my face,
   a long and tattered flag behind me
     still braving the weather.

the way we stand together,
hand in hand,
  and embrace the storm
   that thunders around us.
it sends vitality coursing through me.

you give me a thirst for life
that i have long forgotten.

you remind me
of what i was before,
  and take me back
   to a place i can't remember.

she is gorgeous when the moonlight hits her,
en ethereal being that i am too afraid to reach towards.

I have never been brave enough to fall in love.

we both stand in this field,
and though it is dark out,
i see her well.

She will always be hard to miss.

we are both something transient in this moment,
as if we stand in the center
of a faery ring,
the small creatures
dancing merrily around us.

for a moment,
we are trapped in this meadow,
eyes locked upon each other.

.
.
.

and then life continues.

we are still both human,
and though i see her hair
rebelling in the humid air,
and i can see how harsh the moon hits the shadows beneath her eyes,

I think,

perhaps,

I will find my courage.