Proust turned to Hemingway as her feet dangled off the ledge, playing hide and seek with the setting sun

What shall we do tonight?
Wander the streets as vagabonds,
Cursing the bottle as it makes love to the tongue?

                        Or shall we be a reckless symphony?
                        Truest tones found only in short breaths,
                        Tainted with sinless pleasure?

One in the same as smoke curls the lip.
                      
                        Shall we always be friends as this?

While you smell of ***, yes,
Or until I finish this paragraph.
Would you like me to read it to you?

                            Must you always speak in riddles?

If only to keep the thieves at bay,
For doctors know nothing of riddles.
  
                        You are no doctor, my friend,
                        For though I worship no idol,
                        Religion binds me to you.

As I am your god, you are my teacher,
For no one understands me quite like you.

                    Is that not what the alligator said to the turtle?

I think you’ve read the wrong version, my dear.
The alligator safely takes the turtle to shore,
And they grow old together in the humid afternoon sun.

        Your mind is filled with the optimism your privileges have allowed;
        Whereas the turtle never stood a chance.

Your doubt is lost on me,
But just as Proust has made me ironic,
Words will bring me back to you.

                            Shall I follow you, then, if you stray?

And ruin the cat’s game before its begun?
                      
                        I heard the mouse goes blind in the end.

Then lets never find the hole in the decaying wall,
Until youth betrays our mind and perjury is revealed.

                        Is it truly perjury if we always knew it,
                           Both halves of the mind working tirelessly to keep it?
                        To reserve each word for tomorrow,
                        If only to keep eternity from death?

Must you always speak in riddles?

And he turned back to his book, as her thoughts lit the streetlights one by one.

You used to consume my every thought,
Now I’m begging you to stay.
To weave yourself into the cortex of my mind,
And allow me to keep a little misery in the pocket of my chest,
Burned images of familiar hands upon my breast.

While the grass grows between my fingers,
Time reminds me we have grown up.
But how I wish to lay there and breathe in our youthful scents,
How I wish the memories were enough.

I didn't know him. Not really.
No one did as everyone fooled themselves into loving the idea of him.
Fooled by the shameless shard of glass protruding mercilessly from ancient cracks in the sidewalk,
That slips its way seamlessly into what we've believed was hardened skin, rippled with paths we thought were knowledge.
For a moment, it's the most painful thing we've experienced, this *******, this shock.
That's how I loved him. Shockingly. Instantaneously. Against the grain and thoroughly.
You don't feel it as much, when you expect it. When you slip the glass in yourself.
It can be a comfort, that's true. Another falsehood when all you find are ghosts.
Until the devilish jester begs the question, was it ever real?
What did it feel like?
Why didn't I look harder to memorize the features of a face I loved?

And you'll find you spend the rest of your days walking barefoot on crooked sidewalks.

Scream in my ear to silence my head

As it floats through the ecstasy of your hand

And dances in the waters of your cruel heart

Where destiny is a word meant for those who feel

The noose tightening

As toes flirt with ground

Like a dancer on point gliding through a shadowy veil

Concealing that which destiny hides from

A dancer whose mere posture dictates the weeping truth

You're no good for scheduling but ideal for dancing.
While night tricks us into invincibility, whiskey tells us not to wait.
So educate me on the nonsense of foreplay to a friend's poetry,
And we'll lose our jobs over bongos and stale beer,
Trading tips for one second tears.

You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine,
I'll take a receipt for time lost between sheets,
While bruises take the place of scars.

Just as my dimples look more mature in the morning,
You sound better when your hands talk.
So I'll degrade a dollar for last night's sake
and the irony of grandpa in the morning.

Then we'll kiss what should be left on the floor,
And I'll keep you somewhere safe where I'm bound to lose you anyway.


I hope you find your keys :)

It’s easy to love a ghost, hard to love a breathing soul.
But we try.

Hard to build a home from the ashes of careful memories stolen by the careless winds,
Growing fond of the cold and safe in the silence.
A stranger’s words dripping from empty lips stay the night for promises’ sake,
Returning with different faces.

Then, for no reason beyond a change in the weather or a penny found on the ground,
A stranger asks to stay.
Stories are slow and some pages lost,
As shy laughter finds its way into dusty corners.
Tears come and hands linger,
Weaving words on chests to keep warm at night.
Far beyond knowing the end of the story, tracing footprints made a thousand times,
We make it to the edge of the earth, and find it’s not so scary.

When the stranger tells me his name, I find I already know it.
I’ve known it since he asked to stay.


It’s easy to love a ghost, hard to love a breathing soul.
But we do.

Poetry
flirts
with mind and breath
graces your lips
forming words spoken more yet heard
less

Sea monster:
pull me from my boat and drown me in your waters
let the currents drag me to your home
a new haven for those lost at sea
countless souls left to wander
a shadowy world deathly in its beauty


let me live recklessly among foreign creatures
driven mad by freedom and grown wise from solitude
carry me upon your back, floating with ease
as if making love to the heat of the day

sing me the sound of your waves
lullabies washing away sins
whispering fleeting truths in my ear


leave me naked on the shore
sea foam biting at my ankles
bidding goodbye


As salt on my lips reminds me of your sweet kiss

I remember you were mine once,  my Sea monster.

Take me back to a time when life slowed to the rhythm of a Beatles song,
When an orange glow reflected the intoxicated passion rushing through our veins,
Where flesh met flesh in all its innocence and simple words became ****** philosophy.
Four people searched for quiet in the chaos, for meaning in the secrets of eternity.

Truthful fingers traced purple arms and green hands graced ivory skin,
As faces became lost in the designs of a creative cannibal.
Laughing voices rang in our ears, the biblical words of our wandering spirits.
The room around us, having a life of its own, spins faster and faster, knowing its destiny to fall.

Ancient histories slipped off our lips and the aches of forgotten dreams came to light,
Came to remind us that we were not who we thought we were without the colors in the night,
That our naked selves in the sunlight were only shells of beings meant for the extraordinary,
But, fearing rejection, hiding behind the impenetrable mask of mediocrity.

Streams of shameful reality fall from eyes burning with regret,
Leaving tracks of yesterday on perfectly blackened faces.
No words of comfort offered, but penetrating faith in the eyes of a stranger was all it took
To make walking next to the stars seem like coming home.

Devoured by the strong hands of false saviors passed reconciling abandonment
When lost soul meets lost soul, closer than warm lips that grew wings.
Senses heighten as entangled bodies bathe within the carnal oceans of unconscious desire,
Melting beneath the bitter chill of our own painted masterpiece.
Where hands lie to mind as inhibitions lose their voice,
And flesh makes its imprint in an acrylic dream world.

A world whose promises are not meant to endure but for the moment
Stoic figures replace dancing shadows as pale morning creeps up its leg
The breeze of summer parts its way through twisted fingers as birds’ sweet songs pierce christened ears
No traveler speaks of the dirt on our feet, the map left behind but lines on our hands
But eyes filled with knowledge learned through eyes staring back, whisper only the colors of the unthinkable things we found in shades of blue.

You always knew, didn’t you?
Even when it was just a smudge on the paper,

You knew.

Lingering breaths exchanged ignored,
Keeping supple lips friendly.

And when the crisp night blends with the gore of morning,
Poets trade poetry for coffee with jokes and two sugars.
And while her name lies sensually between your teeth,

Your transparent blindness engulfs the table.

For you know, i know, you know that I’ll be here tomorrow.