Love, looked at itself,
Came upon nubile innocents,
Threw down with jaded sun,
Made its own bed in the open,
Earth rained for a thousand days,
Evolution birthing in the flood,
Meteors could not wait to fall,
Comets not wait to strike,
Oceans drowned in salt,
Evaporated whilst the whole wide
Swirl, turned and glazed upon
An arc of celestial remnants.

As soon as you heard the rain,
you came in like a hurricane.

                                             Destroyed everything

and claimed I was to blame.

Then didn't even try to clean up what's left,
just moved the mess from one room to the next.

We're oh so close in our hearts and souls
but
our minds are so distant
might as well be antiscians.
Even though I see you in my nightly visions,
and you cross all my thoughts with capital Ts,
and I dot all your eyes with kisses from butterflies.
I know your disguise is comprised completely of lies
like both of your faces are living 2 separate lives.

In the darkness I scream
but
I don't speak.
In the darkness I dream
but
I don't sleep.
All I hear is the clock

tick-tocking
and it's
sick mocking.

I think it is laughing at me, for being half as happy
as I claim that I am.
You can only place so much blame on a man
before you find him laying in the sand,
thinking he should stayed when he ran.
So now I'm feeling dim
but
not quite dull.
Which means my mind is sharp
but
something is wrong with my *soul.

Little Morrigan  .  .  .
Crow still flies in my embrace,
My arms have your back.

When you touch,
It is withholding.
When you moan,
It is suffering.
When you smile,
It is mercy.
When you laugh,
I am placated.
When you swoon,
I am not there.
When you vibrate,
I only witness.
When you taste,
I only imagine.
When you love,
I am unknown.

There’s a strong urgency in *******.
The longing for there to be another human body
pressed up against your own, so much so you envision
it vividly in your mind, painting hundreds of
thousands of scenarios until you find one just right
for your hand,

for your body.

It's not about pleasure, but about that momentary loss of place and time,
a further commitment to your imagination but
to your loneliness as well.

I once met a captain, three yards from the sea
In a tavern where only true sailors should be
This captain questioned if I was a We
"No," I replied, "I am both lonely and free."
He, too, could relate to a life in this way
His comfort came from the boat's gentle sway
And time held nothing but day after day
Yet my smile, he said, kept his ship at bay.
The captain, filled with both warmth and fear
Watched our faces in the tavern's mirror
Sadly, and tenderly, he declared it was clear
I was the shipwreck into which he would steer.

I saw you in dream,
We walked together,
Kaleidoscopic,
Like truly it had once been,
The comfort of always you in hand,
The sun's caress, the open skies,
A secret valley, fields beyond
The first breaking,
Dawns perfection,
Then music, newly made
Played on, seeping
A soft étude of warm drops,
Rain so gently dripping,
The whole meadow began to move,
Yellow butterflies and red winged warblers
Wafting round circuitous, ceremonious,
Soothed in simple harmony,
We made our barefoot way,
Toes in the sands,
Passed lofty streams, came upon
Golden gleams, glens, surprised
By lake shores seams and slowly,
Without fortune, gazed
Into the creaking sadness
Of blue
Reflections.
Suddenly, we slid, fell
Amid rolling tears
Filling our eyes,
And my hands reached
Out into nothingness . . .
Demise,
You,
Vapourized.
I awoke into steadfast
Silence and smoke
Of low, deepest night,
Tarnish taste of sloe
Burn and cold blackness,
Hopeless, banished,
Before the running after fall,
Near inklings of those
Only, once known,
Unblemished,
Hues, fading,
Lost,
Colours.

When the emergency room
is at maximum occupancy,
the nurses will lay down
their clipboards and utensils,
clear their throats, and ask for
women and children
to approach the desk first.
To ensure proper care,
forms still must be completed promptly,
and as patiently as possible for the
patient to be processed.

There's the occasional backwards R.
But all is acceptable with a
signature by the X.
Adrenaline coursing
through veins may perhaps lead
the cause of instability,
some instances coarse skin.
A child with the heart of a lion,
shell of a turtle, will always overcome;
rest assured, an insured child,
prints their name with the
unmistakable yet
innocent backwards R still
knows that words are as powerful
as excruciating pain.
Sticks and stones and words alone
have been known to break through bone.

With the twitch of a finger
even Danny Torrance made
the word "Redrum" seem
like a word to reflect on,
if not only a feeling
of constant déjà vu.

Intensive care is a surgeon
not leaving a wristwatch
inside of a patient,
if not a cadaver
whose time ran out.

There is a sun,
Brighter than your face shining.
There is a sky,
Deeper than your blue eyes.
There is a Moon,
Lights up the day that's dying,

Chorus:
What would you say—
If I should leave you crying?
What would you say—
If I should leave?
Should I leave you crying?

There is a cloud,
Why must you be so proud, my dream?
There is a sea,
Why must it be we're drowning?
There is a place,
Where we can be, both towering,

Chorus:
What would you say— If I should leave you?
There is a light— Why won't you see?

There is a dream,
If you believe as I do.
There is a way,
To keep the Sun behind you.
There is a love,
Truer than light that binds you,

What would you say?
There is a light that finds you,
There is a light that finds you.

So, love began as it had— always been,
Stars exploding beyond the rays of gold,
Younglings new, born of bode and wonder,
The dearest waves, lept on forgotten time,
Among the furrowed hope of fields we grew,
Days sprung from long vines, handy grapes
Croft with sparkle in the bloomy meadows,
Hands knotted with clear, open eyes and all
The afternoons of spring rejoining, pebbles,
Divining from the told tale of forks in the hills
And reaching to loamy shores of lost ponds
For now, to be on at last warmly and grassy,
Dials of sun and summer cleansing showers
Under the peaceful wake, the never sleeping
Pines, yes and then we were highly held aloft
In the loom and yarns of green steps, storied
By forest upon shires, sandy uncovered eyes,
Happily, lost in the woods of lamb white days.