I think of you  
In the days we loved.  

When we shimmered with a brilliance  
That made the sun blush.  
And we didn't care or fear  
If we would burn out,  
As long as we spun  
To glorious ash together.  

Take us then and lock us away.  
Pluck those short days  
From the script  
And write us  
No more.  
Let us be each other's  
First songs and swan songs-  
And we would be happy.  
To never know another soul  
The way we know each other,  
And we would be content.  

The truth of first loves,  
Kept safe from the wisdom  
And cowardice of age,  
That teaches us to be cautious  
With our hearts  
Reluctant in our affections.  

But now…now the world  
Would ruin us.  
Obsession weakened,  
Diluted by the mundane,  
The tediousness of days  
That tempers us from  
What we were  
To what we are;  
And shows us to be  
Dim reflections of ourselves.  

So I keep you treasured away  
In my recesses,  
In the days we loved-  
Where time cannot strip away  
Nor circumstance impose  
Its penalties.  
Where you still burn  
With reckless abandon,  
So as to consume me completely.  

But this time  
I will turn to ash  
Alone.

It's hard to see from so far away-
at least, from what I can tell,
you are happy.
Happier? Probably.
Lounging in the 9th stratosphere,
maybe even so far as
just past the moon.
And who wouldn't take that trip?
The most I could offer was a pig
and some ****.

Maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe you would have lived life on the ground
but I never believed it.
Never wanted to squish you down to earth
and keep you contained,
bursting at the seams beside me,

waiting for you to understand what I had always known:
The ground under your feet was as needed
as the wind through your fingers,
the sea in your lungs
and the stars in your eyes.
And that you were always going to leave.

I thought I could bear it,
with un-penetrated walls and flying my flag.
That the thought of your smile could hold my strength,
and fortify my castle.

Those downcast eyes and upturned mouth,
couldn't that give me just a little comfort,
a little more strength?

But those were wishful thoughts
of too good intentions.
Now here I lay toppled,
buried beneath my own stone walls.

Can you not see these,
not feel these bleeding sunset wounds?
Exposed and seething behind the brave face,
that urge every fiber within me to react;
to cross the line drawn in the sand between us.
Cast off my restraints
and pour myself out to you.

Would that soothe the aching that consumes me
and return you from that stranger's lips?
Or have time and words stretched thin,
hanging our bridges on feeble threads
waiting to cut ties beneath my steps?

There was a time  
when putting voice to
silent declarations  
unspoken longing  
you would have uttered my name  

And it would have danced  
along your strings

The last time I saw you, I smiled, and feigned  
Simple friendship with my lips.  
I walked beside you down a narrow forest trail,  
Tall grass playing at my fingertips, until we emerged  
At a stream, where we sat and talked.  
While my heart beat your rhythm in my ears  
So loudly that I never stopped to wonder,  
If my rhythm was beating in yours.  

I don’t remember most of what was said.  
I can see your eyes, sparkling,  
Darting between mine and the water,  
Your half smile, playing at the corner of your mouth.  
I can see your lips moving, soft and full  
As they wrap themselves around syllables,  
But I can’t make out the words  
Just the thumping in my ears.  

When I leave, for the last time, we hug.  
I feel your soft warmth against me  
And wonder if you can feel yourself  
Thundering behind my ribs.  
I hold on, only a second too long,  
Despite the aching in my blood not to let go,  
Not to unwrap myself from you.  
Because part of me knew, this would be the last time.

Why did I come at all,  
When both of us knew that the stars were already  
Spinning us out of orbit.  
To prove to myself that you were just a friend,  
Or lie to myself that you weren't a lover.

I should have never come,  
Or never left -  
But all we say
is goodbye.

I hope with everything within me;  
on the moon and shooting stars  
old stone wells and white horse waves  
that I am not forgotten  

I still come to the shore and  
wade into the waters,
feel the  current pull against my legs  
threatening to drag me out  
and abandon me in its expanse.  
I steel myself to the waves,  
to the unrelenting deep between us,  
and sing songs across the sea.
some for you
and some for me
and some, for us both,  
and I pray I am not forgotten  

there is a fear, a quiet anguish that  
looms in me like a shadow;  
that the sea has swallowed my voice,  
shipwrecked my song below the waves  
and I am made a stranger.  
an insignificant dot over your horizon.
like so many things
whose time has come
and gone.  

So I hope.
that life has not judged me too fairly,  
that somewhere I am happy,
hidden away inside you  
on a shore that I will never see
and I pray I am not forgotten

You are my late September,  
When spring has long been forgotten  
With its newness, lush green and raindrops.  
The rambunctious giddy splendor of sweaty palms  
And arterial palpitations.  

You are not summer, hot and dripping,  
Air thick, smothering with inescapable heat,  
Panting breaths and desperate lips.  
Perhaps once or twice as we revolved around each other,  
If night airs could tell tales.  

You are not winter,  
Though we have shared Decembers.  
There is no place for you in my snow tipped trellises.  
No coordinate in my circumference that would hold you in ice,  
Frozen and forgotten under rippled white blankets,  
Though perhaps, under wrinkled white sheets.  

You are not fall,  
When autumn turns the ground dirt and dull.  
Trees shedding their raiments  
And reaching naked for the sky.  
Surrendering to the inevitability of winter’s approach,  
Drawing sap down to their rootwork,  
Waiting for another spring  

You are my late September,  
The earth still warm between my toes  
With the remembrance of summer suns.  
More vibrant than spring, and wiser than summer.  
Leaves full of tree-song  
Brilliant gold and fire,  
Blood orange and melancholy yellows,  
Blazing in defiant glory.

I spent weeks  
and months  
and years  
carefully collecting you.  
gathering your pieces  
and promises  
like stars plucked from the night  
and placed in my pocket.  

each moment  
that your lips held my name,  
that you called me your home  
and whispered forever  
into my veins.  

But forever never lasts.  
the stretching out of our infinities
cut short,  
toppled-  
in a few days,  
a few minutes,  
a few words.  

my years of  loving labor  
smashed into  
stardust.

Haughty words
of wine and new lovers
frolic on your lips;
and fall on me with daggers and Greek fire.
To turn my insides to opposition
coiled with serpent knots,
staying my eyes from slumbering fantasies,
for it is retribution who hangs the stars on the night.

I fear you have cut deeper than I had permitted
when you set your steel against my ribs;
but let me not drink too heavily
from the cup of self-pity.

This was not undeserved,
earned with pleasantries and ingratitude;
but rather double edged words,
playing smoke and mirrors
to conceal my cowardly suspicions of defeat.

Finally, I have lost my appetite
for this ****** game.
My armor is worn and blood rusted,
exposing the wounds I have been rewarded
from years of waging war.

Perhaps there is still redemption
from the blood-stains on my sword.