I am eyewitness of charm, a skinwitness of wilderness, a heartwitness for pain. I wonder if you tear your bemused silences or am I stripping you of stillness. sometimes I am silent as a plastic plant, scattered like the vowels of a foreign language or whole as an apple. only the rustle of my hands is enchanted. you are  an impossible congruence  for a witness of the progression of tears.
You are searching for something, the hush of blood in the intimicy of the ear, an oceanic tempo, a steamy vertigo.  time is reaping my breath with some fascination. there is this feeling, a filling of one's body with  the magnitude of the other. this absorbtion.
I follow the rupture lines as much as I can. there is no filling from the outside, they wait to be inhabited by one's blood. I would offer my skin flambe, the memory of your skin feels like a cataclism of fingerprints

Parcelled and promised.
But not yours, nor mine.
Drags on. Flies past.
Never really unwinds.

A cure-all or illusion.
Could make fools of us all.
A force to which everything
Eventually falls.

An irreplaceable treasure,
That can’t be held in the hand.
Just one way that we measure
Our lives on this land.

In my desk drawer
are broken things,
bits of what were,
hopes of what could be.

It’s a journal without words
where a red paper clip
holds nothing together,
and a tape measure
never reached the length
of a bookshelf.

Tucked in a corner
is a faded love letter from my husband,
a few words about roses, and
how beautiful I was at seventeen.  

Sticky notes lay scattered
in confetti colors of green,
pink, yellow, and blue
waiting for ink instead
of just taking up space.

I should clean it out…
send most of it to a waste basket,
but not every treasure box holds gold.

Mine is a cluttered drawer
filled with broken things, the
archaeological site of a dreamer
with a catalogue of stories to tell.

I've walked your floor

sat beside you in candlelight
looking at photos
scattered across the floor.

you remembering names
and people and prayers
I had long forgotten.

you are the dancer
who glides this loner
through sorrows and the stars,
across the mist of moments
most treasured

where in the stillness between kisses
promises are kept
and the warmth of your hand on my cheek
felt in places to real to touch.

your love asks for nothing
and when you smile your quiet gift to me

tender one, every breath I take is loving you.

The Thorn & The Rose

        They say that opposites attract
But a relationship could never last
They warn to never get involved
For it would be over way too fast

The attraction is purely physical
And love needs so much more
But somehow we starve to connect
Like the waves and the shore

The friction that tried to destroy us
And push us so far apart
Couldn’t overcome the power of
The love we had in our heart

We found a way to ignore the laws
Of nature and found a forever love
We both know though that a Devine
Power was giving us a shove

It’s a miracle like with the Sun & Rain
Something beautiful grows
And opposites can survive together
Like the Thorn & The Rose

Written By:Charles Kean
08/12/2025
I’m the Thorn and my wife Cindy
Is the Rose. We’re complete opposites
And there’s no exaggeration.
I’m loud and outgoing and always wanting
To do things and go and get out of the house
She is very comfortable laying on the couch with a blanket and her tablet.
I’m Rock & Roll and I go to concerts and I play my music loud and she won’t even listen to music at all except in her car and it’s country. I’m not a show off by any means and I don’t make a scene or anything but I do love wearing T-Shirts that get noticed and I enjoy getting compliments on my shirts and I talk to everyone and she doesn’t have any interest in being noticed and she doesn’t talk to anybody but me and who she’s with.
It’s too funny but we love each other like crazy!!!!