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Lover's voice lulled
me to sleep.
And like morning dew,
the fog of all that deluded
liquid and soothing.

Pansies grew on
the telephone lines,
a Garden of Eden
in my chest

Everything, my dear
has flourished
from the traces
of your love
Your hands held out in the velvet heavens
fumbling, searching, desperate to catch
the falling stars, our mismatched marriage
to tuck away and cherish
in hopes its luster would never fade
and the rust, our nails will be ready to scrape

The faults of dreams, like the stars, in such multitudes,
far too scattered to recognize,
embodies the burns on our hands, how it thrives
with a flammable dance to endless ember
only the dews of our morning love could calm,
only the rain of time may soothe

Oh what sight, the dawn, and its crimson rays;
the harp strings of a promise silenced during its slumber
Its music so rich, we can taste
The crescendos will grace us, my dear
upon its rise there will be no fear
look up, my love, it is coming
the birth of new beginnings greets us here

Say your farewell to the evening, my love,
and it's pool of elusive glows.
Morning awaits us with a much resilient light
as pure as a child's laughter
hope was
the light
the chandelier
that only
by a thread
I swear my heart
was once Pangaea
and in the midst of our torn out love
came the continental drift.
my love, oh love
it was not as tragic as i thought
back when i first learned geography
in fourth grade.
some lands sunk,
but some surfaced.
and in the years,
in the seven pieces,
life began to flourish.
I was never superstitious
but if incarnation would be true
let me live a thousand more lives
condensed and liquified
as an ink to your mind's pen,
as words to your drunken poetry.
Let each stroke embody
every curve of my body
that your hands have ever held
so long.
Cross your t's
telling the story of our love
how one point was met
with another with a line,
replacing what once
was empty space.
And dot your i's
with the periods of our story;
from our book's first sentence
in the introductory
to the last sentence
of our cliffhanger.
I am reckless and blunt and my dear,
I lash out at every opportunity
but my passion never dies.

My tongue is not for the faint of heart.
Men have fallen from its wrath,
and I too.
My heart disagrees with the weary.
Loves until the other crumbles,
or until I do.

I have no use for those who know
only to tame, darling fuel this forest fire.
Don't explain me in plain metaphors.
dissect me and strip me off this wax skin-
molded by hands of faceless men.
Expose the steel soul my heart
has tempered in its flames.
Paint me in art that disturbs and
exceeds the frames.
Sing me in resilient verses only
the deaf or I could hear.

And I, in return,
I will love your calloused hands
***** of paint and burnt from the heat.
Your voice will be the only music
I'll keep.
Strip me further and you'll find my heart, a mirror
a shard of translucent glass to
those who cant see.

I am reckless and blunt and my dear,
I lash out at every opportunity possible
but my passion will always
be born and reborn
from and for you.
I carried love like loose change
tucked in the backs of my pocket,
clattering like cheerful tambourines,
evident with every
exuberant swing of my hip
and ready to be given
in the right amounts
with no expectation of anything
extra in return
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