Tricks of the trade,
when nothingness becomes something bold,
like that last number a paper did fold,
so you call and call,
playing a tone through all the halls,
and bridges falling down,
and houses no one has found,
in the midst of filled place people call a town,
with no air that doesn't walk brisk,
no stories sharing besides with a fist,
oh, how we see the things we wish to seed,
misery makes a mess and not just of me,
history is the best when it isn't your story,
or when you have a place that isn't this stormy,
and you're looking back and proud to hear his story,
of how he met her on some rainy day, and pain and clouds,
isn't the only thing she took away, because ultimately she gave,
and it's a perfect trial, fair and just, harmonious and without grave,
so she calls and he answers her name, until one gives, and steps,
past their hallway into yet another loving place, their bedroom,
their headroom totally unbetrayed by anything except play
loving the quarters and the pennies others throw away,
stopping never and only ever desiring to say, I,
my dearest, love you, and I swear I'll stay,
and it goes without saying, this
could never have been amiss
and I will never miss you
and I beat for you
and I for you
for you
everything.

So tell me sunshine,
how do you need to see,
that the weeds and the grass ain't just for me,

let me gaze past the fields,
and maybe baby,
there's a sunlight that can make me be,

everything that we ever will need,
darling the clouds are blue and the sky
is a sea, thinking about you as I
dream of we.

hold my hand, give me the sand,
ain't no reason to count what no one can,
that's how long I'll be doing this dance,
kiss me like no other can.

maybe we'll find, a fine of the land,
buried before us in this torturous
landscape before us, but
we already did, can you see what your smile did for us.

you're the sunrise, and I take with me,
a last letter that forever I can read,
in your eyes looking at mine,
there's no end, just our sun to rise again.

The time of your life, on repeat,
call it a sign of the times, a timely blessing,
a clock that seemed to run on by.

Oh, sweet darling,
what is it about you that I'm missing,
could it be the kisses, hugs,
seeing your eyes from above.

Might I miss just catching the gist,
of a longwinded poem, I barely missed,
focused on a screen, or in my mind,
while your prose outstretched it's vine.

Maybe it's something about following behind,
seeing the sun capture your mind,
glisten off your skin, because only I knew your sins,
or that I loved and never needed to remind.

Everyday, I call you,
and saw you, and hoped for you,
in someone like your kind, in image, breath,
or just your way of being kind.

Everything, is what I miss, my poetess, divine.

blue mold splattered on the wall,
darkness inundating like dust,

a soft white light painting the scene,
the closest thing to serene,
and yet so far away and faint,

Purgatory, immobility, a throne made of the floor,
seated, seething, seeding on their knees,
the shadows are alive, they are beings,

baptized in the black ocean,
where roars drown the waves,

their fingertips almost succeeding,
poking at the watery grave,

wearing a waterous veil,
proceeded by their monstrous screams.

It is silence, and cold is all you feel,
when you're drenched inside it,
and your pain has become steel.

Still and stoic, stunned, momentarily,
for the sake of not wanting to tarry,
though her eyes are starry
I suppose I am chasing the fiery,
like a proper torture puppet,
where pleasure is purely measured by the sounds she makes,
and I,
a pain filled pie,
promising to encapsulate a well packaged bespoke mind,
tailored to her tail and devilish wings,
let my crown be one that stings, if so she esteems,

roar and drag my nails against the sheets,
across the bedroom floor and into conspiracy,
teeming in a way that they would deem, simplified and undignified,
while you dig your nails in and I dream of your teeth,
do everything and all without leaving nothing undone unto me,

my promise is not to bawl, except of joy, that I'd devolve for the sake of your destitute ball. Trampling and fancying my fencing fall,
hearing me enamored through the halls, because I am what she esteems, and nothing is as it seems, unless she sees it fit,
and I throw her a romantic fit.

Go on, capture yourself capturing me, witness how it is that a rose falls, into a flower garden with no mystery to solve, for the only way is up, and the field is filled and sunlit. Might you say there's nothing to wit, just decadence to not be absolved but played with.

Your fire, I acquit.

body, we've been given these pale wings,
they are not meant for flight,

mind, we are drunken without drinking,
tread carefully lest we fall down the flight,

bones, at home alone,
seeking where to run,

muscles, outside and alone,
hobbling, as we can no longer run,

heart, drinking blood, but what are you thinking,
inside me but outside it is raining,
your means of becoming undone,

soul, how are you keeping,
the unraveling from meaning we are done.

Darkness ensues,
like a cape,
and I it's benevolent captor.

She falls in love with me,
not because she is captured,
but because I see her at all.

In this world of light,
he's given all but a fight,
as simply it's being,
is a war of night.

Fall from the skies,
beam like you never could,
black butterfly, only misunderstood,
I see you.

I hear the call,
your words are of light,
rest easy, for the world will not find us,
for now we are all but the night.