These days are for the daisies, accented with juniper and babies breath
A gazebo beneath a tree like shade on a cloudy afternoon

With our glasses more vertical than not; I drink you in and swear away the day

She smiles, because I stare off for long periods of time
Reasoning, that I don't want her to catch me gazing at what I have no right to love

A gardener's guilt
Plucking the ripe and ready
It's the time of season for cessation
The paradoxical harvest
An event of sustenance and death

A consumer has no sensation other than taste
A carnivore only taste one flavor

Your flesh on the vine
A rare and coveted commodity
Past vintages become quartets of meaningless digits, like discarded combinations on a constantly changing tumbler

The fortuitous ones will eventually get their chance, but only after the
horticulturist has gotten his fill

For I have forced breath into you
Developing your unique character
With subtle augmentations to your composition; and experience above all else

Only the most bitterly tortured fruit becomes wine of notoriety
A sadistic vintner periodically sampling the evolution of his wares

Very often the inflictions are bored by both master and slave

I feel it in you
It's the only time I do
Feel
Misery is contingent upon company

A fool's philosopher
With flawless adages and quips

He is no different

Eventually we all will be met with the contradictions of our exasperated convolutions

Then where will you be?

Why, you have been made golden!
A hopewell beacon amongst the treacherous and ******
You are now nebulous and immaculate
Like the figure encased with in the marble

Does the sculpture recall the stripping sensation induced by the artisanal hands of the craftsman?

Or is it's ears filled with the clamoring?

Ingrates and dolts who only appreciate the product rather than the steadfast passions of it's means

Amongst the gawking gazers I am indistinguishable; as you are now to me

Reliving the past
Like Frost in December
Nothing can last

Happiness in May
Youth mild and warm
Our child will play
Taking another step forth

She is our world
The crust holding our bubbling mantle
To often we burst
Reshaping the earth

It is what builds her
For better or worse
It is all we can do, to lighten the burden
The parenteral curse

Despite our infractions
She is cool and relaxed
A beacon of hope
In this epic clash

No matter the outcome
I hope she will see
That she is perfection perfected
The child of we

BODY AND SOUL

our cigarette smoke
built up a spiral staircase

upon which our conversation climbed
word by word

becoming now a hieroglyph
blown away by the saxophone

our calligraphy  of thought
written upon the air

the jazz making it illegible
as a doctor's signature

words our words
collecting upon the ceiling

like out of reach cobwebs
or escaped Christmas balloons

our words looking down
upon us

at all that was still left
unsaid.

we leave the crumbs of our breakfast
on the windowsill, where we can watch
the ants arrive, and carry them away,
to their hills at the base of the maple trees.
they can't talk to us, but we can sense
their tiny gratitudes.
skin against skin, and tongues against
tongues, the glow from our faces is just
enough for the moths to recognize, for
them to want to dance around our heads.
they bask in the light of our love, and we
know they feel it too.
i live to see you smile, the kind of smile
that shines so brightly, like the way a leaf
beetle's shell does, when the sun decides
to hit it in a way that's exactly right.
they don't notice their iridescence, or how
perfect they are.