I see my thoughts nuzzling in your brain,
Dripping with anticipation,
Drugging the both of us simultaneously,
Organically with steady pollination.

Neither of us quite understand
How to express our fascination with this newborn flower,
So we do what we can,
With smiles here and there
And small conversation to trek the bridge between us.

Someday this may bloom if we nurture correctly,
But no single answer exists as to raise a child,
Start a fire,
Or grow a garden.
We will create our painting in the exact way we desire,
With our own brushes and canvas formed out of our skin,
With the paint from our irises.

What a beautiful feeling,
The budding of love,
With its uprise of uncertainty and swirling butterfly emotions.

Everyday I'm trying so hard to like my favorite things for reasons having nothing to do with you.


Today when I decided to drive on the meandering border of Walloon Lake,
Wildwood Harbor rd,
     The canopied trees
     flashing shadows of squirrels peaking through paws
reminded me of every motorcycle ride I accompanied you on.

     Holding tight to your chiseled stomach,
     hands cupping your belly button through your sweatshirt pockets,
you would maneuver your mobile machinery through every dip and dive,
garnishing curves with streamline, flawless breaking and acceleration.
       I would lean into your spine,
  imagining the path of your lower back as the map of our road ahead,
each bump and curvature a flawless representation of reality,
  the living moment.

Something sensual existed about the way you and I forged a relationship on pavement,
  riding the asphalt the same way your bending fingers rode my thighs.
     And every time I choose to drive our road with my less than aerodynamic Marquis,
each stomach flip from the unsuspected slopes
   transports me to lazy mornings-
         Naked and alone in any way imaginable.
    Purity and solitude,
truth, the end of it.

So I turned onto M-75
              trying to forget every reason that I love Wildwood Harbor for you,
                            and only remember the reasons I love it for me,
                                           but couldn't find any worthy of space.
                                           You made everything so memorable.

I call for my mother above the rounded crescent hilltops
but she never answers,
only my Biology professor who brought me to this place
so distantly
close to my own heartland.
And my love affair
continues to blossom over every rotten log
with its residing salamanders and larvae.

My hopes is that the Beavers will teach me to saw through trees with such precision and I can then become one of the greats.

I wish stars grew in your skin
Next to the oxygen humming in your lungs
To thaw your stagnant blood
So I could watch you orbit your part of the planet
Three hundred miles away,
Because your heart would then permeate faster than life's speed limit,
Scaling all the mountains between us to
Float in my peripherals like
Residual Chernobyl radiation.
Dancing hazily,
Constant reminders of my past
And the jenga monkey ladder to my future.

I never liked being insignificant.
Now please infect me with your cancer
So you can't escape again.

If someone tells you I love you,
Run them through triathlons while holding your hand.
Make them listen with their eyes closed to your singing voice,
When they tell you they love it watch for the formation of sweat beads at the edge of their hair line.
Have them catch you off a twenty story building
And then drive you to the hospital.
Wait in the ER for five hours without a cell phone to play games on,
Make sure they kiss your fingers while you cry in agony.
Starve with them for five days
While you survive off of nothing but salty tears and tender knee hugs.
Watch your favorite movie with them fifty times in thirty days.
Go out to your favorite restaurant five times in one week,
And most importantly,
Loop your favorite album on replay for 78 hours.
Buy five dogs and walk them through miles and kilometers of bike trails.
Have every single argument possible
Until you run out of things to disagree on,
Then bring every issue up again the next morning.
Get drunk together and say every possible ****** up thing that you don't mean.
File for a mortgage.
Agree on how many kids you both want.
Go through the loss of a family member together,
And convert to separate religions.

But most of all, make sure they really mean it.

I wish that God would whisper to his disciples
The words no one desires to believe.
I wish that God would **** his followers pretending to embody his words in gravitating accuracy, that
They are preparing for the end when really they're creating it.
The apocalypse is now,
In production as we speak,
Taking its form in floods,
Extinctions,
Heat waves,
And toxic wastelands.

Too late has man found solutions for irreversible problems.
And too long has man found comfort behind curtains and blinds,
Sheltered from the singeing reality
That is what Revelation preached.
The apocalypse is now,
And we hold the torches
Scorching the grass blades knotted through our toes.
We hold the torches and feel the power wielded in our palms,
Realizing the undeniable capacity of energy in the burning branches in our hands.
But humans love fire,
And that remains constant.