Perhaps I can learn, and earn
something...
a degree
sensitivity to the divine
happiness
that I so foolhardily believe
lies within
each of us,
if only...

I did something wrong tonight.
I don't know where I started.
Perhaps it was with not changing the litter box
and being too stubborn.
Perhaps we're better off
gone...
Anything I say can mean double
trickery for you, but you don't see it
or do you, man?
Nubile guise
you can go **** yourself
sweetheart
with that sharp pain
in your core
feel it burn as you walk away
mirror neurons fire, crackling away in our brain
brains double, seeing double
walking away, the air biting yellow light
I'm in a circus it seems,
these days...
always in that haze,
baby blue, dreamy eyes
look behind the looking glass
my dear
you'll find a wall, painted in parlor pink
where you're mother used to let you play dress up in her robes...
it was fun to dance in the ambient light.
So innocent.
Not these days
with cold cut eyes
crystal
clear with rhoto glassy whites
crystaaaal...
they say, these days..with an exhale
too much time
to unwind
loose your mind
too much to do, not enough time for you
tight held in that tensions
grasp
tenuous tendons stretch
elongated fingers
somehow unnatural in the reach
so fine
refined, rather
somehow still as precious as... I don't want to say gold,
oh how much material matters, and how little
the important things do..
there I go, lecturing again,
when will I learn, that a teacher does not lecture.

5 am darkness.
it's merry morning time
and if I had a drink I'd toast myself
to another night of beating sleep.
or to sleeps evasive nature.
either way, the result is the same.
and the means never matter
when the end is nigh.
high upon nigh, it has come unto now
and here we raise our dry and frail hands to the sky
dancing for rain under a brightening sky
our tongues are sandpaper leaves that curl up in the caverns of our mouths
our throats, raw from the air - rasping
still our bodies move in a fervor,
we will have our rain.
and the sun punishes our leathery skin
and we will dance
until we drink the rain

I love our inside jokes.
Close friends with unspoken communication
it transcends our verbal limitations,
its chaos and beauty
mixed, together just as separate
a place is found
in a disorderly scene
paint and water spill
creating with colliding colors that
clash and **** things up together
in the most profound way
I'll tell you about my day
in a haze of excitement
and a fervor of love and wonder
everyday is a trip
to a new experience
its painful and dull
with pangs of sharp realizations
and laments that end with
I'll fix it someday
so we burn the day away
and hit  the pill bottles
to relax the muscles
and taste the paper
to experience what it says

but we know that we go too far
some days
some days we go too far
and we still don't think it's far enough.

It was a deep dark energy. A pulse. Thick, heavy pulses; radiating between bodies.
Magnetism, a primitive attraction. So carnal in nature, so rooted within the primal psyche.

The air was straining, the gap was treacherous to bridge and far too untamed.

Tension gathers until it touches the tip of the tongue, taste buds overloaded, it is a rich,

overwhelming taste, yet it left you quietly seeking more.
Desire. The urges threaten to swallow you whole, teasing you
with the
threatening riptide
that is this
feeling.

Pulling against the rope
dragging you in,
struggling with the strangling grip,
face only somewhat off-color,

eyes only rolling on occasion.
You can take it.

Until you are
overtaken by the mounting wave, swept away
as it crashes upon you, drowning your senses…

oh but how you relish in its wake

It'***** or miss in these raging waters, you make it
or you don't,
and no one ever knows if you'll end up
a floater like so many others.

Not until you're found bloated or bare *****,
only then are they certain,
and how condescending
in the way they shake their heads
and announce that they knew where, “you lied all along“

azure eyes with tinges of grey
worn from a dance with the night
hair wild, could be wind-swept

but no, only bed-swept
through the tossing and turning
her hair strangles and tangles itself

the sun does not wait for her to wake
she waits for the sun, achingly
as the dark slowly devolves to light

knowingly the pattern repeats and continues on
the familiar sequence brings a sick sort of comfort
she needs something to smile about anyway,

"and it's always nice to see the sun rise."

In the beauty of words
lies
a truth
inside beyond
the
words that scar skin and
act as the terrorist
suicidally bombing your heart

Words that lie heavy on the tongue
only to dangle between parting lips

leave you wondering if anything
could ever be so true
becoming brilliant like
something that you
could succumb to

ending with
fatigue following the brilliance of the sun
and the discovery of
forced empathy
exuding from empty souls

Frustrated by the endless banter
of the innocent thoughtless ones
You want to hurt them, oh but that
isn’t...
no matter
they're already, in a sense
dead

You need something real
to make you feel:
four
bruised knuckles; an array of color;
a rainbow of tender pain

colliding, clashing and then comforting

finalized.
dulled eyes
once too bright
now you have to fight to get past
that dead stare
sitting so quietly amid the noise;

lost and found in a peaceful nothing place

At the edge of an ocean
I find myself;
sometimes afraid
of feeling,
fearing the feel of the fear
of the…

the tempting sounds
and movements
rushing my way

on crestfallen waves (and there’s no escape)
breaking against a burning summer body
heat waves radiate

creating
these illusions we see;
delusions

we, separate bodies:
desperate
monsters of repartee
sparring with silent words
between worlds
with
****** cuts of wit
and quick clever retorts
not one can win

and so I weave
and wonder
at black ocean waves
that toss me to and fro
from stern to bow
just teasing, never relenting

to let me go?
no, never
land - a former lover.

a lesson is learned
in and throughout
my treacherous journey of
drifting with the tides and fighting the sea:

I am nothing, like the sea.
I am turbulent and raging just like the sea.

an orchestrated mistake
stumble, fumble and
fall
suddenly contact can be made:
a reason to brush
timidly, against the other
in an attempt
to subtly connect
and find relief from that
heavy tension, as it hangs in air
so close to condensing
so silent in its suspense
and still,

We wait to breathe