Introduction
There they stood; keeping silent company.
Yet of His face, wept searing electricity.

To the lovers of life*
Here they stand, keeping silent company.
No utterance dealt; yet clear in both their minds
A single, brilliant truth:

He longs for her with a savage delight.
And it cries from every fibre, exalting!
It is in the bearing of his eye;
Rifling through her tender flesh
In search of what he knows, from voices ages old, is there:
That her heart will beat for no other as it beats for him right now;
That in this moment, their Souls are bared
To each other’s glares- naked, and blemished, and cowering-
Yet his eyes remain fixed and sure:

And for this, she loves him.

For they have seen each other for the First of Times,
Truly! And as with many the Ancient Laws unfurled,
They stand aware, in lack of ever being taught,
Aware with every atom, every straining tendon tight
That their time's so very short.

And so they drink… wordless
To each other, to their youth, and to their bodies
Shining like never before in the noonday air
Garbed in cloth that snaps and furls around their waists.

They imbibe with electric eyes,
Eyes that are new born to this world of light
And come out screaming, living, and sensitive
For lack of ever being touched.
They revel in their new-found joy;
Pouring from Her figure,
Of Her sleek, supple waist and the arch of her back,
Bristling with delight,
Of His strong hands and easy smile,
That spoke of laughter scattered
Across countless campfires of summers past.

Their light does burn intense as any fire,
And when their brimming anticipation
Overspills its crimson chalice
The silence shall SHATTER.
To find peace again in each other's arms.
Fumbling in sweet darkness-

Of heavy lids, of earthy flesh,
With lips embraced...

In ravenous finality.

girl of country forests
and dusty magical roads
and the calm on hurricane streets
a tint of pink
sitting on maroon carpets
turning pages of a novel dream

her pale hand on an age old paper
bleak ink and words,
pouring an ocean
with her dark brown eyes
penning thoughts
sending letters into the future

writes notes on sticky pads
in a library of broken hearts
where the rule is to stay quiet
to only scream inside
and just like the books she borrowed,
never let herself fall apart

lazy afternoon adventures
seeking rainbows and smiles
barefoot, feeling cold
on play dates with her dog
which apparently talks to her
when the boys in her school won't

now there could have been someone
who made her dream of a heaven somewhere
but he only took her to a really hot place
something 'hell' said a sign before the door
he let go of her hand, pushed her in
returned back and left her there

this was what she had to become
just like this lonely burning place,
she started within her a fire
a fire no one could douse
she burnt her dreams but never
the forest that grew behind her house

for in the forest, she had to burn
pages, words, letters to the boy
she wrote with bleeding ink
until she had burnt
all the dark memories of yesterday
and found her fiery smile in those flames

she couldn't sleep at night
while everyone dreams, her thoughts loom
spells on the poignant calm in the air
something magical, exciting about this darkness
and when she plays with her pretty dark hair
yet still it remains a lonely, desolate room

but even the night passes
a girl, now in love with sunrises
because even those are just the embers
from a burning sun, a million miles away
oh boy, she still loves a beautiful fire
and waits for a boy to burn in her desire

a girl who used to be the calm
has now become a storm
but she keeps reminding to herself
there are souls who still love art and light
so that's why even broken pieces, ashes and fires
can make a beautiful home

You have a pair of eyes that whisper spark.
I can hear them roar when I glance into
the picture of you, smiling behind glasses,
freckles punctuating your joy. I am glued
to your face; your deep irises, hair dark
as beech wood, lips full as a lunatic moon.

I’m surprised you haven’t burnt men alive
with your glare: you are more forest fire
than glass of wine. I’ll bet that you sizzle
when you’re kissed. A man can burn like a pyre
should he even think to utter a lie.
I want that. I want a woman who sighs

and sings songs that smoke: one that can’t fizzle
out with sadness, one that can shine like stars
on a moonless night. I’m a dry stack of wood:
here, take my hand. Ignite my skin. Your scars
are molten gold, glimmering. Make me dizzy
with electricity. Make me red like Mars:

a man once sailed an ocean, for a face like yours;
and, I think, given time, I also would.
Helen of Troy was gorgeous; however,
with eyes like yours, a man could fight forever.

He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.