My happiest memories, seem to be
Light peeking through the splits of the curtains
Simplicity in its beauty
Of the sun kissed morning.
Sleep dazed , in the distance I hear creaking
From the tiny window of the wind
Unexplainable comfort in our shared body heat.

to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.

...And I will look at you, through the windows to your soul and I will speak from beyond the depths of my ocean. Just as Mother Earth has a heat at her core that only the Sun understands, only you will understand as I speak from this place. Only you will recognise and feel the melodic vibration from my every syllable. I will be completely without fear when I tell you that I will love you until the end of the ages, through the entirety of this epoch and to the next one. I will promise you that I will risk everything to allow a moment of serendipity to unite us again and again, as we cycle through this projected expression called the human experience. For it is only you, and it has only ever been you. You see this love I wish to express in the physical plane, will be one so pure, and one so real that it will emit its own force field, an unbreakable one that allows a poetic unity to blossom fruit never tasted before. This beautiful unity - one without *******...

I thought I could brace myself from the impact.
Just in case things went in a direction I didn't want them to.

But alas, 'let's just be friends' hurt harder than getting hit by a truck.

The funny thing is, I had a feeling about it.
One of those...
It seems too good to be true, so it probably is.
**** me.

I feel like an idiot.

And as my friends kiss my newly bleeding wounds...
They tell me this is an experience not a mistake.

Even though I feel like this is a repeat cycle of mistakes.
I always seem to think 'okay this one is different I am certain.'

Only to figure out that I was completely wrong.

I leap into things....
This I know.

But when I love...
I love hard.

And I guess I crash just as hard when it all falls down.

I continue to wonder if I have learned my lesson...
But I don't think I have.

Because I keep repeating things.

I like to think I can spot red flags instantly...
But this one...
This one tricked me pretty well.

Hearts, not heralded in art,
Are broken, mended,
Beating, fragile and still.
We are surrounded;
The unknown to know
The aches and pleasures,
The confusion with love and despair,
Remorse and resentment;
The empty longings,
The burning fulfilment.
Cave walls, train trestles and sidewalks
Are sprayed in verses of universality.
The coupling, birthing and dying
Are the continuous unison that endures
Through the elasticity of love.
Ready to wrap the unravelling.
Our teeth may become straws,
Our ears pinholes,
Our eyes pinwheels,
Our skulls pinheads,
Our bodies pincushions;
But keep heart.

A collaboration with Jack**

For within the veil of darkness
where shadows dance in place of light
Searching for answers…lost smiles
along a curved road of desperation…I reach for your hand

You, my anchor, my beacon of light
shine down on me this day
call my name over roars of bitter sorrow
so that I may chase its echo back to you

And of this night I sing your name
melodic whispers upon a moonbeam
slowly peering through a saddened haze…parting
illuminating the silhouette of your beauty

Then we shall dance upon stardust
our arms and hearts entwined
no more by darkness captured,
your loving hand in mine

Now as we touch I find this light is not of me,
not of moon glow shimmering on the mist,
nor stars twinkling on a velvet night, it glows of your smile
which I have so longed to see…once again

A Sunday morning out there that
Makes me want to open every
Window and merge outside with
In-.
I could eat the weather; it's so nice.

She smells like fresh laundry
When she sleeps.
Slight dreamsmile on lips that say
They love me daily, and when I run my finger
Over her latest tattoo, they part in a smile even
Fuller. She stretches with a morning moan.
Never interrupt a streching girl.

God...
I hope to God that there is one
So this gratitude is recieved
By The Deserving.

I never pray; I never don't.
I've never been outside a church.

All I have is the same as the richest man
In the world.
The currency is just slightly other.

Beauty seeping from the pores of
Everything, and contrary to the claims of mr.
MC Hammer, I can -indeed-
Touch this.

She once loved a poet
A couple lifetimes ago,
In a time where the rhyme
Kept her in the flow.

And to the enchanting poet,
The rose didn't smell as sweet
As his first glances at her;
The seraphs couldn't compete.

He was the poem written on her heart,
The love only found in dreams.
She was bound and determined to have him
By any ways and means.

As fate would have it, they had each other.
Their love intensified by his magic,
His use of word and rhyme,
Slowly turned from romantic to tragic.

Because there is nothing magical about love,
It's really a matter of the heart.
Just because you can write on love
It doesn't mean that's who you are.

"God is love."
Is He?
Because according to God,
the love I feel is a sin.
It's wrong to feel so loved.
Is God love when I write love poems for another woman?
When she holds my hand,
is He love then?
An understanding God accepts all love.
Is God love?

Meeting someone,
someone that strikes my fancy,
I take my soul out of my pocket--
expecting them to do the same.

My soul,
like origami that has been folded and refolded,
is worn at the edges and moth eaten,
has burns and scorch marks,
alcohol and coffee stains,
greasy finger prints,
smudge marks,
and small bits torn from it…

Together-- there on the street,
we compare souls on the corners of the world.
Some souls are almost new--
starched and pressed,
in a vacuum sealed bag.

Others, when taken out,
are even more used up than mine--
some break and blow apart in the wind
like glowing confetti,
leaving a dull grey stare in its owner’s pale eyes.

Then after we have compared souls
I fold mine back into its origami balloon shape
and put it back
in my pocket.

Souls are not a different distant object
they do not fit in a lock box.
Every act of compassion…
or apathy,
hunger…
or gluttony,
love…
or ****,
The mundane…
or the extraordinaire
creates a new mark,
a new fold,
a different shape,
a different you….

...than existed just a moment before.

What is love?
Is it a feeling that makes us happy?
Or is it something that makes other people happy?

Is it a person we can touch?
Or something far out of our reach?
Is it the struggle to make others happy?
Or is it self understanding?

Love can be the best thing in the world,
but it can also be the worst thing ever.
Do we even understand love?
Or we just merely begin to know it's true meaning?

Love is complex for us too understand
and too powerful for us to control.
It has a funny way of showing itself
and can be disappointing.
Soo...what is love?

But more importantly
What do you want from it?