4:00 a.m., I can’t seem to stop myself
from loving you, from wanting to be
with you, from wanting to bathe
in your masculinity and feel your essence
coalesce with mine, from wanting our lives
to intertwine and rhyme and rise higher
in the night sky beyond the stars and moon.

You paint kindness in your words
That tell stories and emotions.

My sun has set down
Your sun has risen up
My eyes have lost the dawn
and you're happy to break up!

My sun couldn't shine your moon
Your sun makes everything smile,
Yet my tears have made a lagoon
and it will be an ocean in a while!

Suddenly my sky became dark
Your sky is full of bright stars
My love turned into a lark
and I cannot hide its scars!

Now you are a free bird in the sky
I'm a lonely bird on broken wings
No blame, you can go, you can fly
I'll always find your love in the winds!

as autumn plants her feet,
cities burst into smoke, shades
and silence, until I can only sit
& grieve as a ruby-dream fades

into the mist; tell me this is earth
breaking feasts to mark the birth
of our bond, tell me this remains
the season where hearts rain

like leaves as they, as we, fall
in love beneath golden trees
& we'll only need to loosen our all
to cling tighter than we please;

tell me that when the perils flee,
you'll return, arms open-- tell me.

body blazing, he roams
with flames for feet, drags earth
behind his back, as in magma
melting mountains, as in moon
pulling, seas shifting; skull swinging
open
        like windows
                             at dawn—

all gloaming, sun slept on the satin sheets
of his mind; make merry the morning
melody till it awakes, it wakes—

he weeps, tears trickling like candle-wax
dripping from its flicker. he flares
& firmanents fall through the fumes,

bruised, blinded
—burning bush for his
banquet.

ash and cinder know not
his swelter. he bore the heat now
he becomes the fire.

here, time is a truck
with waxed wheels. but it
keeps pacing, keeps paving the path
to destruction; in dreams, I pluck

myself from its sheath, let it sweep
over me like a tide; on the
ground, I gather my garments,
as stones and seashells, slip

into their ethers, where eternity
waits. here, pyramids don’t converge
as they taper; they tunnel
like a lair that has lost its lucidity

& I’m wandering within their walls,
clueless, clouded—a captive child
eager to escape into enlightenment,
or another dream, where bliss befalls.

this is a paper-dream gobbling
reality—down to its
bone, bruised bare & bleeding.