I look at you through sleepy eyes,
Stretch my fingertips out to touch you,
Feel your hot breath on this cool early morning,
I am blessed by your presence

You my sweet, and cherished comrade
You will never forsake me, nor I you
You have never judged me
You accept me without question

Always, you are there for me
You give my soul energy
You awaken me to my potential
And allow me to clearly see

On this, another frosty morning
You are there, as comforting as always
Your scent urging me to awaken
So thank you, I love you coffee

Little boy
Little boy
Come let me be your friend

Little girl
Little girl
I do not play pretend

Little boy
Bathed in light
It is not a game to me

Little girl
In the shadows
I am not what you think you see

Little boy
I see* You
Not what you show the world

But I know you
From eons past
You are not a little girl

I am
What you make of me
Sweet angel in the sun

You will
Be the death of me
As it has since begun

Your smile
Is my very breath
Sweet gray-eyed boy of mine

And your love
Is worthy of my soul
I'm yours through all of time

Then how, pray tell,
Could I lay to rest
The purest form of light

By holding you
Sweet love of mine
You blacken all that's bright

Brighten my shadows
With your love
I promise I will learn

I will not change
The you I love
I'd rather lose a turn

A turn at what
I cannot see
I do not play this game

I'll find you
In the next life of ours
As it is all the same

Challenge rules the kingdom of reason
Compassion is the queen of heart
Indifference breaks the circle of suffering

That's about all ... but if you want more

Meaning rests within the arrow of time

Mirror looking
for a place to rest
comes across  
monkey's naive heart.

Thus,  
heart reflects everyone

Everyone and monkey lie
to save face

Depression
brings the path
to monkey

in the basement
where we keep our little gravities-
apparently the earth gave way
and hell announced a cavity.
allow for strange attractors
to collapse before they're intimate.
and never take the stairs
until you've locked the room beneath it.
according to the rule
there may be echoes from the chamber
a misery of wraiths
or a raven in the manger.
or a hackle of contempt
the very air, a shrike of drone.
an epistle from a hornet's nest-
at the back of our throats.
in the very, very quiet
where we keep our little maladies-
apparently the basement is as good a place as enmity.
allow for cain and abel
and perhaps you have the half of it,
swinging from a hook in every room we've heard it laughing in.
according to the rule
there may be black so black it's blackening
and everywhere the hoards of wane
dispel the moon
because.