the heavy heart is a heathen
corrupter of better nature
committer of soul-treason

fueled by the miserable notion
that death is twilight
and life is dawn

to flight, to flail
to rage, to rail
to weep, to wail
to no avail

to unhope

and all of this minus the mercy

©Jason Cole

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over the harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

muted waters
curtains of ice clouds
silvered rivers
hymns of shivering
hushed waves over stone
a shadow brushes
the cold edges here
under violet skies
gnarled boughs
twist my soul into roots

do you even know much an extra inch of height can do?
you make me feel like the goddess of trees
smoke billowing out of our parted lips and crooked teeth
eyes slowly fading in and out of mundane reality
floating through dilapidated streets filled with solemn expressions
the corners of my lips just won't turn down
eleven years stand between us, but it feels like we were born together
maybe in a past life i was your queen that you decorated delicately
with soft kisses on my stomach and shoulders
freckles quivering and sparkling like stars in the night sky
that tiny room is our kingdom of indulgent lust
you let me rule so justly
falling asleep to the whispering wind and the soft sensation of peace