There’s a copper covered floor
     swept in by father’s hand.

And a sweet scent dwelling in the thick air
     of mother’s sigh.

Streams leak into the sills
     upon my face.

And a blindfold
     drapes the *****.

A mesmerizing buzz
     echoes within.

And irrationality
     fills my presence.

To be loved or
To love
Must we choose?

I am the beloved
Yet I see myself from only within looking out
And believe I
   am just the lover

Unchoosing to be both

In spite of, and thanks to my experience
I believe in the moments where we are both the beloved

Those moments fade
Into cool memories
Cozy in my mind

Until they become stinging cold
Like when my bare foot crunches down into the thin layer of snow halfway the drive to get the mail

Oh how it feels to be the lover
Oh how it feels to be the loved
The lover finds ecstasy in their beloved
Why then must the lover expect anything from the beloved?
Is the gift not in the experience of loving?

What is it to be desired
If you do not know desire yourself?

Will we be ever be satisfied?

I surely hope not.

Beaty eyes
they stare into me.
Beaty heart
I feel the shake.
Beady sweat
between brows gather.
Beaty bodies
we feed the anxiety.

Feet pressing
into soft ground.

Bits of wet soil
paint our sandals.

With the incline
rises my gaze.

Mud spots legs
and freckles appear.

A smile touches within
seeping out.

Receded then as
a spring in cold months.

Suds soon would
wash away the
speckles of folly.

The drops
as black as her soul.
Blurred vision
by the salty streaks
rolling madly down
a face left scorned.
Swells of air
pulled inside lungs
that might as well be crushed.
Numbness spreads
like a disease from the knees
then to shaky legs.
After body separates from soul,
these lips will be last to go.
She'll never know
how her darkened soul
brightened my dreary day.

Spring woke up to Summer and hesitated to consider the blunder of her drunken ways

Between blurred lines of late night and early morning she found temporary home in a haze of heat

Summer's eyes had engulfed her whole being, utterly attuned she became with the motions of the oncoming season

Hungry for an enternity of warmth she ate knowingly from the apple with hope that cold rain spells and allegery eyes would become days of what had been

Beginning to acknowlede now the plight she's put herself in, her longing only growing stronger with time, she whispers a melchony sigh Summer's way

Summer's sweetness is for more than just her lips and the honey dew that drips from them in their waking slumber of late day

Ink stains like blood
My poems spill only
one-sided stories

I paint over the words
But it cannot be covered
by brighter phrases

Like a ghost
Who lives on my pages
Screaming it will not be expelled
just because I'd like it to go

When I leave it alone
It only whispers
to be remembered

I decide to leave it
there a little while longer

You put body before mind
and should be weary of your words at this time.

Desires blowing fires through
your skin, be genuine.

Bite the drunk tongue
even through bleedin'.

Don't let me wipe it clean
until you've said what you truly mean.

You put mind before body
and I'm not weary of your words spoken then.

If I  had known
how you adored the
snow
I never would
have called the
sun
back home.

And if you had told
me
that puddles
remind you of darker
days, I would
have insisted
we lay inside
during spells of rain.

Curiosity killed the cat I'm told but was I also told it kills the soul?
No.  
Ignorance is bliss when your mind is latched with no intentions of finding the keys.
Don't question what you've been told you cannot understand.
Begin chipping the stone below your feet until it washes away.
You'll have to wade the water or give way.
You will sit in the heat of the sun while trying to connect your stem back to your root.
Don't question what you could never understand, the most almighty.
Slowly you will be crushed back into the dust from which you came.
Do not sereve yourself from all that is "good."
Break.
Tears roll atop pores of my face to dry lips
Salty truths no longer a gray cloud above my head.
Pit Pat, Pit Pat
The rain dances on the headstone of my Christian beliefs.
From earth and water a star eyed child is given birth by help of moonlight.
Now galaxies float above my skull
seeping into the cracks.
These beliefs cannot be transcribed to teach others.
Scrap the mud from your ears and eyes.
Listen to the whispers.
Relinquish your physical sight.
Let the wind baptize you in truth.
Sometimes we must die to live again.

I've found
so many
hiding places.

Tucked myself neatly
into other people's
lives.

I've found myself
in closets [of my own shame] [of my mother's shame]
where you store the things you'd like to love
but just quite don't.

I dove through masses of clouds I pulled from near by.
I decided to stay beneath them.
All around me hung the weight of the humidity.
It drew my face towards the ground,
where I adored so many beautiful things.
How long though, would I cling to beauty of the ground
as clouds kept me down?

A ray of light slipped between a crack,
It's warmth touched my crown.

As my eyes lifted up, my mind did too.
In the spaces between where the sun shined through,
there was something new.
I rejoiced!
And rejoice to this day for the love the light provided on that gloomy day.
I rejoice to witness the birth of my oldest and most cherished,
friend.

It began gloom and gray
I lay inside all day
My schedule gone to hell
Waking up at 2:00 pm.
A summer day
Ready to be seized
But there I lay.

Dinner plans lighten the day
I gather myself and my things
And make my way.

Drinks follow serendipitously
Of wheat and sweet shrooms
Tracers meet my eyes in all corners
I fall to sleep with a sweet
But lay to my wake all night
So here I speak of this organic happening I call Monday July 16.

An ordinary room and childhood bed
   transforms-
A temple buzzing with countless energies.

This entanglement of bodies and emotion becomes a sacrament of liberation.

My fingers intertwined at your sacral, my tongue at your root.
It’s a prayer of pleasing and longing.

An uncontrolled opening of self
At the alter of another.

I want to draw you but my pen knows nothing of your ways

It has no idea how restless you become with breath on your neck
or whispers in your ear

And paper could never hold these moments properly
It doesn’t hear your moan
Or feel your fingers

And only your bed could know of how we grip and hold each other as we fall to sleep

SAB

I want to write a million poems to you
About you

How can I find the words
I feel so stunned every time I find your eyes looking back at me

A deer in headlights
A moth in your flame
A slow burn

Intricacies of my insecurities and desires lay plainly in my head and a  dumbfounded smile unfolds across my face

I write to understand
To make sense of myself and all the things
I can't find to say to you
in the present

I push the blinds apart and stare widely with a softened smile
As you move further, trotting down the sidewalk of my apartment complex
I squeeze each moment of tightly  
Before you turn the corner

I think
"happy"
because you were there with me

Then sad
with longing

But I know that one who doesn't long for someone or something is stagnate

So much longing has surfaced since we met

The lust for experience
Back again, full frontal

I imagine moving down the calm waters of the San Juan
Me on the oars, you in bow
Setting up camp on the riverside
Finding space and time
to wander through each other's minds
with a campfire to light the way
Expedition talk, you say

Much to conquer, but not you

I want to trek uphill towards your peak everyday
and never arrive

Can you blame me
when each step is sweeter than the last?

These words are my longing
  and I'm so content to sit and let them unravel in our parting