You’ve always been
there for me.                                               My rainbow
in my life’s storms.
My daily sunshine rays.
The evening beam that sends the dark clouds away.
The hopeful tints on my bleakest day.
But what if tomorrow never comes?
The tomorrow you’ve daily promised.
Your promise of forever.
But what if tomorrow never comes?
Can I dream by myself?
Would I carry on?
But today is what matters.
Today with you.
Our love is timeless.
I’ll embrace the love we have today.
I would never worry about tomorrow.
Even if doesn’t come.
I’ll hold your hand today and you’ll hold mine.

She is only 3ft 4,
I could not adore her more,
That smiling face is always talking,
She is a little miracle walking,
Hide and seek,
She loves to play nurse,
Then...her treatment,
First things first,
So many challenges,
Each day is a test,
and when she is with us,
We are blessed

Here is what I do know now,
A few things learned from you,
Fairy tales do not exist;
Though our love is so true.
There will not be a rider
On a steed so very white
No kiss to resurrect me
Even though this feels so right.
No prince to make me royalty
No savior when I fall
No one surrenders anymore
No. No one, not at all.
Practicality now says
Two can not just become one
We must now sign a contract
Before any merger's done.
So true love now is jaded
While reason wins yet again
No exchange of any vows
Save for paper and a pen.

There's a passion that burns
within me that's never
more alive, than when I'm
In the garden.
And in the garden of
love, my favorite
flowers are the tulips.

They're especially inviting
after a bottle of Chianti
on a hot July night, with
John Coltrane seductively
blowing from the CD player.

Equally captivating, is the little
bud that lies North of the
tulips.  And with the right
amount of attention, the little
bud, the pea in the pod, creates
a nectar of the gods that tastes
sweet, like honey to my soul,
like maple syrup to my spirit,
a heavenly sap that flows like
the beer on tap at an
all you can drink club.
Like Dylan Thomas at a
pub in Wales, my heart sails drunk on the tulip's fine wine.
And then like magic it occurs,
when ovulation yearns for
procreation, and on those nights,
On those nights...
I could spend forever in
the tulips.

I became Holmes, past knowing true:
In every sense, I'd seek for you.

Now, taking the cobbles consciously,
Sick, mad, of the essence of this construct,
Dismantling the ancien régime to see
That I am all your stains in concert -

I am made up of every last touch -
Originality's a lie, save in
The combination that you see - as such
It is unique, but I still cave in

At the dawn that nothing is my own,
And much like as if you were a coffee
I'd downed: I could not, for my life, disown
The five million senses cutting me

For the time, for every conscious cup
I'd take and take again: Why should I dull
And cut myself this way, a life made-up
Of such a tannin-full ideal?

My way as a writer is to fall
In love, in my eyes, in yours, in raptures,
In despair, in tough crowds, on God, to call
On my muse and survive the ruptures

Of worlds and heavens, both real and made,
And feel the rain upon my face, but Lord,
How often do I feel, and feel the raid,
Engaged by scent, blush, needle, salt, word?

All too much makes nothing, and I can't flee
To seek another cup: I must seek me.

a desire to erase,
to stay away forever.

an opportunity to transfigure,
to sit on the floor and wait for storms.

a line to cross, a lion at dusk,
a catastrophist.

a pen filled with acid,
a book of theories full of holes.

once this begins, there are only endings.