Suddenly its been more than a year,
wait, holdonaminute,
There it goes--
It glows with a golden aura,
I coulda' sworn I'd determined to hold on to it,
jotted it down, photographed, videoed,
reminisced late at night.
It's alright, my tight grasp failed,
But it hasn't slipped through my fingers,
just drifted, calm, leaving a soft tingling on my arms,
then left me with a jolt,
a revolt against the turmoil that plagues me.
The future used to be dread, dead-ended
in routine monotony.
Now it has gotten me day dreaming fondly,
beaming in my sleep,
stretching toward it with fervor.
No wonder this year passed so quick,
it was just one tick
in the span of forever.

I'm sorry I'm debris,
I collect in the corners
slowly cluttering,
until you bonk your toes
against me,
but never enough to pick up
and toss out.
This feeling is prickly,
constantly picks at me.

I'm sorry
I can't shake it,
it has grabbed hold, twisted around
my intestines.
The worst is, I know that it's empty--

that it's an old enemy,
who used to claw at me,
since grown tired,
now gathered it's wits
to come back,
commit more atrocities.
I hope it won't tear you

from me.

Roof tops, dancing,
she's all alone in her sun flower dress.
I'm caught romancing,
haven't given my best in quite some time.
Wanna fall through it all with her,
land on my bed, take off that dress,
and press my hips to hers,
our skin saying things
we can't with words,
wether we're soft, gentle,
or bound up with chords.
The shaking a shimmy,
to shrive off ill feeling, hate,
the gasps to capture
the musk given off by our heat.
We will collapse, panting,
entangling our feet,
everything else will fall off
like your sun flower dress,
black and yellow,
mellow,
mellow,
mellow...

With each breath I exhale
a wish for you.
Every movement taken
is done so with an ache
to feel your hands on mine.
My body knows how much
I yearn for you,
instinctively relaxed by your scent,
clinging to your sweatshirt,

or aroused by the sound
of your silky words
being pulled playfully off your lips.
My hips twist in my sleep,
trying to find you under the covers,
to grind gently against you,
gain subtle reassurance that you
are resting, protected, nestled in,
that it's me you hold
to your heart within.

Sitting in the bathtub,
face flush, warm like the water,
as I sink in further
I think of you,
off on your adventure,
and wish the moon, like a bow,
could shoot me across the sky,
a flash of light
that you see with delight,
until I fall down at your feet,
my journey complete,
returned home again
at last.

I can feel you in my fingers,
my muscles remember having you
in my arms.
I live on little miracles,
like when we think of each other
at the same time.
My rumbling mind mulls over
every sign until I shush it
with a sigh.
I rub my tired eyes and tell myself,
        "Go to sleep!"
I listen half the time,
half the time I eat.
While I rummage through the kitchen
I imagine you singing
in the living room,
your velvet voice
laying soft on my heart.

Has the potion of poesy
been processed out by my liver?
Maybe I ****** it out with last weeks whiskey,
or forgot to sprinkle it
over my frozen "meals for two,"
which always end up as a meal for one.
Has the season changed so much
that the wind carried it away?
The bees cannot find its pollen to spread,
and I cannot smell it
drifting through the complex...

What comes next? What comes?
Life after poetry,
do you scatter,
dissolving, dispersing energy?
Do you matter,
to the Earth, the air, the galaxy?
Or do you slip into an early routine,
forget the touch, the taste,
the sound of words
bouncing in your mouth?

Can you be reborn, reincarnated
as something new, something with assonance,
consonance, brilliance and shine?
Can I somehow get back,
back,
please come back
gentle poesy,
gently rhyme,

be mine?