Let this hymn beneath an ebony sky
Be the breath of angels upon our skin.
A song of scripture and silence
written upon your body and mine.
My head upon your breast on this night and your lips upon my mind.
Our breaths swirling like a sacred fragrance
are everything I need to know of love.

I was around fifteen
when I first imagined
myself as your husband
and I distinctly remember
Laughing and tearing up,
just a little,
because I didn’t think it
was possible
for someone like you
to love someone like me.
I did not know how to love...
but there we were
genuinely happy
and in love,
adrift in the aether of
my teenage imagination,
your face was hidden from me.
I return the comfort
of that fantasy and
conjure scenes of our life together.
Spending time with you
comforts me and gives me peace.
Wherever you are, please
know that I love you
and that I am looking for you.
Darling, you are literally my fantasy
and I will not rest until
our love is our reality.    
I cannot wait to meet you.
Have a great day, Love.  
I can’t wait to hear about it!
Yours.
Always.

She lay in bed,
her body a poem
upon my chest.
A sweet perfume
of rose memory
wafts in the space
between our breaths.
A silent incantation
disorients the voices  
in my head and it is quiet.
Our embrace is poetry,
and there are no words.
Just the silence between
lovers, whispered nothings.
I hold her tight,
drawing her to me
intent upon fading
into the memory of a rose.

and watch over the woman
who will be my wife, wherever she is

surround her with good people
who will not harm her

give her comfort in moments of sadness
until my arms can do the same

clothe her with peace
until she can hear my voice

and if she be pricked by the ebon briar
of darkness, then light her path toward me

and give me enough days and
strength of step to cross her path

then may I speak words with depth
that cause her to see who You created

They wander around aimlessly, a discord of sound and body.  They move.  Each one searching for the leader of this chaos. Wherever one goes, another follows. And another. And another. I should not be here, but I do not want to leave. They surround me, inches from my face without looking at me. Without seeing me.  Without acknowledging me. I stand and wait, with my best smile. The one she said she loved that day we were at the beach. They will notice me. Ten. Fifty. One hundred. One thousand. One million.  I feel the deepest loneliness in this discord of sound and body. Maybe if I turn around? Maybe someone behind me is trying to see me? I wave as my smile becomes a waning crescent of my former happiness.  After one thousand pass me by, I wave my arms and get in front of those walking in front of me. Extending my arm and open hand. They push me away. Am I the source of this discord? Why do they now move in accord as one sound and body to push me to the ground? A multitude set against me and the music is the most beautiful anger.  I should not be here, but I do not want to leave. They surround me, inches from my face without looking at me. Without seeing me.  Without acknowledging me.

May your heart see my words
On this night of wind and rage.

I know that you are in search of refuge
from pressures seen and unseen.

I will comfort you from the ebb and flow
of the night tide and this, too, will pass.

Take your rightful place in my arms.  
My body is a shelter from the storm.

Don’t speak. Just breathe. Cry, if you must.
Let our silence shield us from the storm.

And when you awake that storm will be
nothing more than an aimless zephyr.

My heart wants you to stay with me,
but you are the daughter of the storm.

You find rest and peace in my arms,
but the wind and rage speak to you.

The sky cracks and the rain falls,
baptizing you in dark water.

I know the night tide will take you.
And I will stay here with open arms.

I am here seeking forgiveness,
but I am not sure if I want it.
My only sin was her...

When she looked at me like that
my lust converted into praise and worship
and I knew then I was lost...

She had no place being in my arms
but she fit as if I was designed
to embrace her subtle November

Caramel apples led to Egyptian kisses
which dripped into carnal appetites
adrift in the Nile of her complexity

In the blue of midnight,  when I
write the story of my life
she was and is the only Paige

She is an ebony marbled goddess
fervently frozen in my psyche
and I am her sole disciple

I won’t say anything to you
about cheating on me because
we both know when I'm through
crying I'm not going anywhere.
I’ll just wipe the residue
of promises and embers
from my eyes and by virtue
of my need for your love,
I’ll be the victim to rescue
with that spider silk smile
that weakens me while you undo
my clothes and my defenses,
reminding of how you undervalue
my worth, my heart, and my body.
Yeah, I won’t say anything to you
about cheating on me because
we both know when I am through
crying I'm not going anywhere.

Our hands paint intimate conversations
on the canvas of our flesh.
We speak without word or voice,  
guided by the whims of our breath.
In the ebony of this night, I am not afraid
Because my heart is bound to yours
with a ribbon of November silk.  
I consider for a moment, the way
your flesh responds to my touch.
The moonlit ebb and flow
of shadows upon your skin,
glittered with sparks of ecstasy.
Lying beside you, I close my eyes
And you turn towards the cave of my neck,
taking your rightful place in my arms.
My heart quickens in anticipation
of the intimate moment when
Our breathing becomes one and
I am unsure of where I begin
and end in this embrace and
I do not care because I am certain
at this moment I do not need to exist
Apart from you.  
The chemistry of our breath swells
with the nectar of dreaming  
and I catch a waning glimpse
of a glowing butterfly fluttering
in the aether above us.
I will never untie this November silk
to loosen the tether between us.
I do not want to be alone
in the ebony of this  night
without a word to say,
Without someone whose heart
is bound to mine.

Arms entwined in exaltation  
invoke the watercolors
of her voice diffused in
a hymn between our bodies.
This lyric of midnight--
of flesh, of moon,
and leaf and moth--
whispered in darkness
gives birth to hunger
in search of moons,
scent, muscle, and breath.
Even in this darkness
her eyes are the brightest
stars and there is nowhere
I can hide from her grace.
She sees those parts of me
that I hide from the world.
And in this room without walls,
butterflies and angels overhead,
only the hymn between us remains.

it was your voice
that's how all of this happened
a vibration of aether and lies
slithering from your beautiful mouth
I needed fresh air
and I was weary from the truth
your sound, your hymn,
was weighed down with blood and honey,
chains for my insecurities,
and a soothing balm for the chaos in my life
it was your voice
beautifully, deliciously venomous
and I drank willingly from your kiss
ignoring the taste of embers
exhaling empty smoke and black promises

The curves on this cobalt two-seater
are so **** beguiling.  ****!

The arcs and contours swerve
through my tangled imagination.

Heh...I am a hopeless romantic
parked in a speedster, dreaming of driving.

I laugh at myself because...how like me
to pick a car that reminds me of you.

I mean, we have yet to experience the pleasure
of meeting each other, but I have seen you before--

My God, I have seen you before--
My trembling hand at the small of your back...

The hypnotic aria of our intimate silence…
The way your laughter heals my pain...

I am alone, but I am driven to find you,
to meet you, to break free of my familiar

Nostalgia made me bitter, turned my love
into a fleeting spirit that burns the palette

Space.  She needed, “Space…”
When did my embrace become a cage?

Space.  She needed, “Space…”
When did bawling in pain become my normal?

I am alone, but I am driven to find you,
to meet you, to break free of this familiar

I thought love was a destination
that could not be reached.

An elusive location that I longed for,
but was too afraid to take the driver’s seat.

I was a hopeless passenger, happy
to be along for someone else’s ride

I have steadied my breath, wiped my eyes
in order to see you clearly.

Whoever you are, wherever you are,
please know that I am driven to find you.

Soon, we’ll hop into this two-seater
and neither of us will be alone.

He woke me up by punching me
I never agreed with his view of the church
He never beat me in a race around the block
I never went with him and Mom on Saturday mornings

He was the best student in mathematics and history
I remember he took such pride in helping me study for tests
He was fascinated by the frescoes outside the Voronet Monastery
I aced an Algebra II the day the ambulance came to our school

He asked me to read poetry when he had trouble sleeping
I held the tubes when he had to throw up
He was remarkably cold the last time we shook hands
I heard the long beep that would not stop, but I could not go inside

He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed  
I was moved by the feckless symphony of medical salvation
He laid there unmoved like monarch butterfly in prayer and
I resolved to visit the frescoes at the Voronet Monastery

The memory of your lips, stained in a stubborn
shade of November is my favorite affliction.
Frosted absinthe dripped from your tongue,
spilling from those November lips, forming the words
which fertilized the garden of my anxieties.
In the nocturne of my imagination, past the perennials
of blue memory, I still nurture an orchid of deep
reverence for the irreparable manner in which
we damaged each other.
I endeavor to tend to this garden, to finally take care
of it.  Of me.  But all I manage to do is **** out my confidence,
settling for the deeply rooted progress of paralysis.
I regret letting you drink from my cup.  
Absinthe did not mix well with the curve of your complexity.
When it spilled, I watched it drip from your mouth,
knowing, with no uncertainty, that you would slither into my mind.

I realize that I am jealous of the sun’s
kiss upon your delicate, caramel skin.
The fervent glow of Her lips
pressed against your supple flesh
singes the curve of my mind’s rapture.
I cannot concentrate when she
leers at me with fervent embers in her eyes.
I touched the blue butterfly, resting
on a glowing, peach rose before us
as our fingers loosely interlocked in the heat.
You cried because someone told you
that the butterfly would never fly again,
but I knew that was not true.