You are my dear, decadent desert,
My summer-thyme delight; Starlight.
Tonight’s your night, for you I write.
Radiant glow, fuzzed herbal hue.
My dear butterscotch icecream.

Sore arms churn thick, slick froth - Sauterne butter.
Gentle spread melts, dowsed in sweet, sugared innocence,
rich scents, then sits.
6 years pass quickly, youthhood gone;
My black swan, a third complete.

You, sauterne butter, mix with scotch -
Fermented, demented, invented to inebriate.
Golden brew dissociates reality -
Spinny, fuzzy, dizzy, funny… gone.
Go on again, dear fawn, 6 years pass,
Pant for the water, two-thirds complete.

12 years as toll to adolescence;
Icy, creamy, dreamy, element prepared.
Scoops of soft serve mix with years past - Angsty era.
Seductive spirits, beautiful brew.

At last, my summer-thyme delight dances with rhyme.
The lime-light shines; ten and eight.
Todays the date, stuff immaturity away.
Make room for the adulthoods’ good,
Scooped generously into a bowl
Shuttled and entrapped by me,
Melting, streaming, gleaming and freezing.
You awesome angel!
My pleasure supreme -
My dear butterscotch icecream.

Spend less time...
Clinging onto whatif branches .
They’re frail & sapless.

When happiness breezes by, it can’t be contained in a bottle.
If you don’t understand the breeze,
you’ll climb desperately
tumbling from broken branches & broken spirits, only to be plopped where you started, but sorer.

Let go completely and fall, the wind will catch you,
toss you up and around
and gently set you down
on the dirt

In that place, I learned the borders of insanity and satire are a thin line.
You come wise to the hypocrisy and pain, delivered in vain
and try to escape it;
12 pills to a blissful, peaceful snore; and somehow,
you’re insane.
I know better now. But I saw, 2 patients, man and woman,
who played hopscotch over that delicate line.
They wanted to see if the medication was working. They asked me to define the word ‘many’. Word stew splatters on the floor when I fumble and foil to try and explain, and they thanked me.
They said it meant a lot to them...
They’re clinically insane and I’m unstable.
These chalk lines must be dashes.

your chilled remembrance
soothes my charred indian burns
from love neglected.

said the Thing alone in his head
“how many steps must i stay ahead  
of fear and self-doubt
lest they figure me out
and peel the skin I’ve twice shed?”

dead roses
thorn-pierced
to violets,
like
our hate,
in
a watered glass
grave.

Like a ship -
at the bottom of the sea.
A scene of forgotten debris;
Crushed.
Cursed.
Submersed
by the pressure
of the cerulean expanse,
without a chance
against the piercing
blades of the sun,
undone and washed up
by the water of the sea,
- are the memories of you and me.

i see
in each curve of each cloud,
your smiles and frowns
silk silver-stiched shrouds
undressed in my eyes
sketched sharp and freely

You are the twinkle twinkle in my eye, the moonlit path that connects the sky,
a marvel - a story to be told.
Beauty so astral, a folded celebratory quilt, built to last past
All the shames of the world.
I love you
Good night ~

One breath; I am awake.
The tar serpent’s smell fills me,
Like a balloon -
Swelling and sweating.
Regretting past June; her odour
Forgetting my fragrance; my importance.
I hate its scent.

Our hugs -  such subtle soft candlelight;
The wick roots deeper still into our navel
One waft, we flicker -
Sharing supple warmth
in shadowy night.

Should dead trees lay uninked in vain
Death shall come to skin my mane
They’ll drain me dry to paint thin corpses
Bloodstained sheets bounds and warps
What truths I kept locked up and caged

I must not waste another page.

Should Passions press their plans to gain
What pleasures tease them; thrashed by chains
Bruised, disconcerted, they’d cut my tongue
Ring it dry to wipe words unsung
While I pillage and drown my house in rampage

I must not burn engulfed in rage.

That once known pure now  lies down ****
And submits its flesh to be tattooed
This holds my heart, unyielding to change
Its fire and fervor forever estranged
With thistles and thorns we nourish our sage

I fear not death, desire, nor age.

Hovering clouds by her face
La Lanae hides like a space

    Lazy and open she sighs
  Evoking grace from the skies

  Nothing perturbs her ocean
All she tries steals no motion

   Janell, a dry rain puddle

head fit for wonder
heart to fight and will wisely
hands meant to create

what Lightning "flashes"?
why, aren't we all the Weather
raining and sighing?

i thought about one thousand things
when lying with the sun
each thought a dampen cloud
each cloud a Tattooed fish with wings
of words red one by one.

two-hundred-twenty words of Dread
and sorrow bled drippy through the sky.
red tears of dreams unsung had spread
so blinding past their eyes.

the other seven-hundred-eighty
sought sun spots sealed so sweetly
such Skies in haiti these fishes seek
eyes pour out dried completely

they splatter across all over my face
i taste musicical patterns and poetry and maths
their nebulous purpose encased like Gifts
opened too slowly to lie still in place.

There's so little to say for
what lies in front of you
I tip your glass eyes for pride to pour,
there is so little. to say for
tomorrows sake does grace and beauty radiate your pores
blasphemes the christ who dwells inside you -
theres so little to say; for
what lies in front of you?

dear, your lazy lips
-  like two eclipses
and a sphere,
bisected by puffs