Your kisses
are snowflakes
that fall on my skin
like delicate lace
and slowly melt
as my passion
heats
for
more

Carried sorrow her brow.
Unnoticeable till now.
Sadness dulls her features.
Misunderstood creature.
Framing within life.
Violent as knife.
Actions less planned.
Make no more stand.
Time for rest.
Deeply guessed.
Pain flows.
Tears show.
Pawn.
Gone.

Our sins, our secrets
those creatures that
fester beneath the
covers of our
bed

are visible from space.

If having sin made me
more desirable to you,
I would leap into
every wooden
box

and tell my deepest, darkest
secrets. To be laid out in
front God. Naked and
vulnerable, withering like
a rat trapped in a cat's
mouth

But I know that it
wouldn't be enough
to make you plant
your roots at my
feet

I am full of sin,
I am bloated with secrets,
my rib cage snapping,
sharp shards of bone
penetrating my heart

I bleed open, I bleed out,
and as I'm dying I wonder why
I was no match for the sins
that grew in you

She is
The size of a flower petal
Attracts me
As if she is the size of Jupiter
Pulling me straight to her core
Crushing my being

She smiles
Whilst playing with her hair
Blinds me
As if she is Betelgeuse
But still my eyes glued on her
Destroying my retinas

She touches
My heart with her little fingers
Pulverises me
As if I was squashed by Olympus Mons
Yet I still reach out to her
Completely *wrecked

I want you to talk to me.
not with dumb, one-line responses.
Give me effort.
Give me something to talk about.

I want you to talk to me.
Not with a "how u doin"
Give me a statement.
Give me a question to answer.

To he honest, I don't know why I'm asking for so much
when your poetry proves you can only give me little.

An Angelina College Christmas

The hallways of our little school echo
God’s holy silence on this Christmas Eve
The only light’s the Star of long ago;
It shines this night for us, whose hearts believe

For we are all now at the Manger met
Before the Altar of eternal Light
So many different disciplines, and yet
We share one calling on this rarest night

We bring our gifts to Mary’s fair-born Child:
A pen, a broom, a book, a welding rod,
A wrench, some chalk, some papers neatly filed –
Our daily labors offered up to God

But silence now: offices, classrooms, gym,
As silent as the streets of Bethlehem.

am no holier than those before me,
nor those to come after
am a man with an eye
searching for a light in blindness
wisdom, in endless perversions of flesh,
and love beyond corners of graves
the blood of my soul,
that i use to cleanse my past,
of filthy hands and feet,
when the sun rose to cast my dark shadow