when I die
I do not ask that you surround my body with clay soldiers in the depths of the dirt
I ask only for you to lay me down in the grass
and construct over me a monument of your words

I ask for you to speak of me as I was unable to speak of you
for I can not articulate your presence past the word love
see, my vocal cords cannot adequately express the way I feel about you
the best I can do is replace the ink of my pen with the blood of my heart
and splatter it upon the page

you know, its times when you’re there, and i’m here
that my mind fills with your thoughts
that my elbow refuses to bend because it misses your shoulder
that I pick a flower, press it to my nose, but still smell only you

its those times, when this page, is all I have of you
so instead of folding it into a paper boat and sending it down the river
I write words upon it
I write how much I miss you — and then I send it down the river

for I know that the mouth of the river is your favorite place
that you love to catch things just before they reach the open ocean
just as you caught me, before I sailed off without direction

you stopped me, you handed me a compass,
and then you climbed right onboard yourself
and we faced the open ocean together

so when I die
I ask that you speak of our journey
speak of what we learned about love’s tendency to forget the cardinal directions
so that the compass of my soul points neither here nor there
it points solely and unwaveringly to you

I try to see God everywhere

For example, I think
Telephone wires look like veins
Carrying electric blood to the fingertips of the world
The world God holds in His fingertips
So what does that make my fingertips?
What does that make me?

Am I God’s creation on a confusing place called Earth, or
Do humans make up an ***** system in God,
Serving Him just to keep Him alive?

When I die
Do I die and go to Heaven, or
Do I end up on God’s bed sheet after a piece of
God’s hair falls out?

And when a piece of God’s hair falls out
Does God cry, or
Does God just wash his sheets on Sunday?
Does God notice at all?

Is God responsible or is God like me?
Does God wash His sheets, or
Does God say, “But, mom, I just don’t like making my bed.”

And if God has a mom does she say,
“Okay,” or,
“God, your sheets are *****, **** it!”

And when that happens
Does God carry me to the laundry room hamper, or
Does God toss me down to His floor?
His floor that’s messy as Hell.

And does God ever get around to cleaning it, or
Does God just need a spot to sleep?

You had me at
“I didn’t know you had brown eyes,”
the day I wiped my security locks of hair
from my face
to get a better look at you.

Look in my eyes like mirrors.
The reflection of my sentiment
made you Narcissist.
And the osmosis of our gaze
blessed you beautiful.
You are welcome.

I gave all.
Eyes, and ears,
and mouth, and rainbows.
Until you left me Mr. Potato.

My barren anatomy makes for a
raw piggy bank of deja vu.
Your silver dollars clunk through my Hollow.
Never rust.
You wonder why I
never let go.
Bankruptcy has me petrified.

Putting park walks into penny stocks
waiting to cash in on
two kisses during Christmas time.

Hoping you invest as much in me.

I touch the Sun, Moon,
Stars and the Heavens
above this morning,
just from your embrace.
It was surreal, you
looked into my eyes
I into yours. I felt like
you touch the very core
of my soul. I felt
something at that very
moment (LOVED)
not just LUV but LOVE.
I know with all my heart
and soul you felt it also.