I will sit
on your doorstep
howling for you,
howling till you
come out from behind your eclipsing mask
like the naked Moon uncovers herself
from her nocturnal dress.

There's a visceral rawness residing
deep in you,
A ravenous delicacy that has held
in its own howl for too long;

We are the wild reclaimed.

Sips of you linger
on the brim of my skyline,
a tasteful frontier,
I give my open palms
for just one more of your drops.

My gracious jewel up
high,
I know your love won't wait long,
so I'll find my way back to
you once more,
on the exhale of a perfectly ascending
horizon.

-ct lokey

Aligning hearts on the
tilted ephemeral axis watch
the world spin by.

Some not ever meeting true love,
others fondled deeply by its
swallowing grasp.

Searching and seeking out
love never yields the
right diamond.

Be still and love will
find me right.

Forgo chases and pursuits,
resigned to a peaceful treaty
of patience,

for the right diamond will
reveal itself once distressed
eyes finally
rest.

Singing won't end because
it's over,

you're a permanent verse in
my heart's song,

but unlike when you
were once my
chorus,

never again will you
be repeated.

Follow your internal song
to a place where
string and brass
lie waiting to be woken alive
with your fresh breath;
The world is all music for
curious hands and
ears ready to
listen and
play its
tune.

There are layers existing deep
in you,
parts long forgotten,
parts yet to be found,
they call, but you have never known
how to listen.

They can no longer wait.
The Gods make sure of this.

Someone or something will come
and burn you down to nothing.
Burn down your faulty armor.

It will hurt. And it should.

On the other side of this hurt,
who will be there, but the charred seeds
of your soul.

Find them. Only you can replant them.

Only when you have stopped looking for yourself
in the hands and at the feet of shallow statues,
look down to the soil at your own feet, that ground
you walk upon, there,
plant those seeds, and begin again.
Grow stronger.
Grow wiser.
Reborn.

Sun-burnt arms hanging carelessly again
out the car window,
fingers tapping to the music of bending trees,
the smell of freshly laid tire tracks indicate
the rush hour race is on.

My eyes speeding through the scenery around
me,
I am a poor audience.

Lively grass and vibrant flowers shout out
with a fresh burst of new colors, pleading to
grab my attention.
But the only color I see is 'GO'----
The time will come to finally stop,
not for the sake of traffic, but for a last chance
to open my eyes to this generous gift;
hopefully before I reach the end of
my
narrow road.

In the still of your
voice,
under each roll of your
tongue,

in between breathes,
after every gasp.

I find myself drifting off
from dark corners
into the brightest gathering
of your mind,

speak to me slowly,

so I can watch your lips compose
an angelic symphony
I am helpless
to
resist.