Her eyes bleed tender light
into the fabric of my soul,
I have never seen a gaze
so steeped with depth,
as the moment my heart
was plucked from my chest,
and pulled through my mouth
with a moan.

No cosmos nor atom is infinite,
so we are told all ends.
Yet the spirit within  you,
is the infinite within the finite.
You are a universe never ending,
expanding forever inwards,
as space rushes the other way.

You are all your yesterdays
and tomorrow you will be that
plus today.
What will you speak now,
that will echo in a self
only one sun rise and set away?
Extend your hand into precarity,
and meet a new you
who has one mysterious day
up their sleeves.

How I wish to fall into her dreams,
and land amongst them like satin sheets
as they pose like April clouds;
snowy towers in the sky.
Imagine all the wonders.
Her inner light has always been bright as the sun,
which is why her eyes always shine,
as if they paint,
                            "I love you"
between us in strokes of light.
Above all,
perhaps I'll meet myself,
and learn if I visit her dreams
as often as she inhabits mine.

Moments are touched only once,
held in our hands like a water droplet
under the July sun-
then quickly depart to join the clouds
far beyond our reach.
In such a fleeting world
sometimes it may seem as though
we sculpt our lives in sand.
Meaning is difficult to see
through the fog of futility.
Yet we carry on knowing blooming flowers wilt,
but their scent lingers among our memories
until a new spring comes.

I could build a monument to your features,
sing your name to the forest creatures,
lay you down on canvas like a painting teacher,
but all will fade with time's ******* curse,
so live forever among immortal verse.

Stillness surges,
each moment washing into the next
without pause-
no rest for ceaseless waves
of instances indistinguishable
from one another.
Books only mean with other books;
and pages within a community of others;
words connecting to other words.
So the same is with then, now, and next.
Snapshots flashing by,
time framed,
so that it only starts to make sense
after the film is played for a while.

The space of this room is impressed
with your former presence;
footsteps in the sand that refuse
to be washed away by time.
It's as though the air flows in accordance
to the memory of your breath,
and the light bends in a bow
to your absent beauty.
You have left this place in love with your touch,
as every trace of your hand is recounted
with the tock of the clock.
This place will never forget you,
and as I sit,
left alone from your leaving,
I toast the room and its close resemblance
to my own mind,
the other place that is unmistakably
touched by once knowing you,
and is left empty of all but your memory.

When my mind is weighed in the balance,
and found to harbor the dark,
a death-like guilt falls like a sheet
of starless night upon my thoughts.
Although the sun will want and rise come mourn,
and stain the clouds with astral wine,
that crimson rain will only drown me in light,
and wash forth that blackness colored the saddest shades.

Affection sits on a knife,
and is cut
as simply as it falls.
Frivolous love-
sugar-sweet fruit
that rots more quickly
than it grows.

The sun and my heart both beat,
the sun on the horizon
day after day
rising and setting,
and my heart,
within my spirit
beating forever
to the rhythm of the love within me.
Two drums beating,
for two different
but no lesser causes.

Chasing significance grants meaning to the hollow,
only such a pursuit is a journey with a destination reached every step.

As objects retreat from view
they grow smaller in my eye,
yet as the distance gathers between
you and I
it's as though you're all I can see.