poets suffer more than most
from being Human

but they also experience
a deeper joy

and a language
to express them both

is the journey
they find themselves on.

From morning to dawn
Whipping mixing baking smelling
Handfuls of what I can't resist
To give
My love for you
Only to see you
Munch it away
The cutest sight
Why
Feeding you feels
So satisfying?

This house
slowly unraveling
peeling off in layers
            like citrus of sectioned
freshness
      squeezed out of bounds
                            my heart
                    all caught up
in rooms, furniture
f l y In g
no longer rooted
by familial gravity
My veins wrapped
in long strands of
              live wires
hugging each item tight
                 as if to unlock
       the memories that
scintillate within
and I
      radiate my  
            feelings of forever
to somehow imprint them
before they
whirl and swirl off
into the universe
Snippets of our lives
in angled slices
of colored mirror
a look
    a smile
       a glint in the eye
children laughing
               a garden surprise
               crazy kitchen singing
                      first solids and a bib
              first little sweet dance
      beatific smile from the crib
the bedroom for cuddles
little bugs wrapped in blankets,
so close and so dear
flanked by both of us,
guardians of light,
keeping out fears
Once, we claimed private time
velvet kisses down
trails of skin
hot lusted shadows
gently sliding within
This is how love corrupts
         how old batteries explode
            burning rust that erupts
                        as I break out
            from the mold
Now your words hit my skin
in bad chemical reaction
knives and arrows of rupture
as my bone marrow
                       gets fractured
Insides are spilling out
guts all over the floor
all this chaos created
as I split
     through
              the door

sometimes, i have this desire,
or maybe a wish
(i can't tell you the difference),
of one day.
one day that might never happen,
or ever become reality,
since its so out of the bounds of it.
after a long day of something,
or nothing, or everything,
i'll fall asleep
clinging to the darkness of my mind
and the dreams that pull me to bed.
then, i'll wake up
somewhere different as someone different.
as though what and how i've lived
has only been imagination,
something i conjured up for fun.
i don't know what that says about me
to imagine such a dream,
or wish for such a day,
but i guess my wishes are different than most.