If you read my poetry my love
For they are conquering bereavement
To bring you back, my words are arranging a court of river
To sail you on the court my pens are breaking down and turning into a boat….
For you my love, I have learned dangers have no shadow
If a tragedy closes a door, it also opens a new door
For a memory is lost by another memory
Though you will live in my poetry century after century……

Your skin was born to know mine.

I am tired
I want to go to sleep
and never wake up
I'm scared,
I think I need some help........................

broken lips harbor a pale cigarette and untold secrets
some crafted tales, others unfortunately true
disheveled blonde curls scatter near hollow irises
empty vision, devoid of all color from smooth bourbon
as these drunken nights consolidate all of our old stories into one word,
goodbye

blowing smokey kisses into the polluted air
dangling feet, perched above a desolate rusted bridge and clouded waves
whose orange trusses have all but faded
to form a mixed color that matches the scene ahead
the deepening violet summer sky, nearly black and so sticky
tightening its humid grip on trembling fingers
which remove the cancer stick carefully out of sight
in hopes that desperate eyes can convince a lonely mind
that your sillouhette will reveal itself, dancing in swirling smoke
as your faint hand reaches out to invite me to join you
I grab hold with one thought gnawing at my heart
do I give in to your gentle touch,
and slip below the other side of the bridge?