i am waiting
for my lover who never arrives
only the ***

have you ever seen
a bed lying on the side of the road
well, perhaps
in all its threadbare mystical past
its  ancestors were flying carpets
and feeling the wind
beneath it
driving down the road
it believed
it could fly

i want to be free of you now
but the ghosts of time
always linger
the parade about you
with eyes straight into yours
no, never just a glance
with just  a hint of goodbye
perhaps
in all its deepest simplicity
they just want to be recognized
for who they where
and then and only then
without so much as a whisper
there gone
but then thats the hardest part
remembering who they where
not what they became

i am not afraid of my imagination
its power draws upon
its very silence
of my thoughts
so my soul can hear the faintest
whisper of a poem
and the words begin
to loom larger then sky scrapers
lines growing wings
and flying off into the darkest night
of my dreams
only to arrive here for you
and you alone

yes i let you in
and within all that enormous  space
i had forgotten
you discovered the place
i had shut off from the sunlight
and within the force of love
the strength of light broke through
the prisoners i had held there
came out
no, not to hate me
but to love me
for in every heart that beats
all that energy that is afraid to love
and allow to be loved
is over whelming
yes my sister
i let you in
and i will never be the same

morning arrives
songbird serenades to open sky
while i find my heaven
within a cup thats stained
likened unto a mocha chino sunrise
outside my window  a
fragrant dew soaked crimson
petaled rose
holds no interest
all my concentration rests within
the slow dark descent of liquid gold
as my forefinger makes slow circular motions
tracing the painted daisies upon my cup
my nostrils flair
as the delectable scent of vanilla cream
extrudes from the ***
its ready
i can almost hear it say
are you comming

what is it about mornings
you drag yourself
to the mirror
when your sub conscience
would rather drag you over hot coals
is it about the deniability ?
thats not me in there
its only in the safety of mornings
when your eyes have the look
of two cracked crystal glasses
bleeding red wine
when the mirror tells you
its never about the reflection
its always about the need
always