Under that pretty flawless skin,
Is a bruised layer aching in pain.
And under those heart-melting eyes,
Are the eyes of a lost puppy lying in the rain.

Under that bright and radiant step,
Is something deteriorating into less than a smile,
Under that happy and cheerful handshake,
Is someone who just refused to do that for a while.

It is not very well known that,
Every skinning of the teeth is not a laugh,
You never know; for you may be surprised,
That you may discover someone going down a completely different path.

My coat is black
like the nights
I have long forgotten.

I left heaven
for the taverns.

I did my readings before daybreak
when the moon was far aloft,
but the nights got longer.

I kept putting things off
hoping I would discover a star
I knew was there.

Now I saw logs
and leave the leaves
where they fall.

She is looking out the window

again. Wishing for there to be

no window. That she could feel the

tumbles of pittering rain droplets as they

run with the wind. On her face. She

thinks on how her autumn-harvest

hair would plaster against her pinked-out

cheeks and jaw and lips. She

watches, seemingly unable to forget her

evening plans. It's down to her mother's

black silk or the leopard-skin

gloves, but both are ripped and she

doesn't know how to sew. She

isn't tired. She's exhilarated. Ready to

feel the rain and wind and trees sail

across her face and down her neck. She

sits and watches through glass panes as skies

whip clouds like batter.

"It is a deepening,"
                         she said
and took his hand
to her watery bed,
beaming her light
upon those almost
invisible threads
in particles subtly
                 speaking
in sparkling aquatic tongues
like colored crystals,
felt in shards of icy wine
shells sifted
in far-flung
            seas of time
Shining down as
we dive to the depths
we lead each other on
We are the  
           explorers of the dark
We have
powerful equipment
to attempt to clarify
radiate it all up
              and if it fails,
the light from
our eyes and hands
is enough to illuminate
the murky
        waters below
our salvation,
deep-sea secrets
revealed—
churning in undertow
         In fact, if you dare
to penetrate the dark
and cast aside
fear of predators
               you will see-
the ruins of
an ancient temple
                waiting,
just waiting
for you
       for me
to dance amongst
the algae-coated
alabaster, green
wisps moving
in hypnotic motion
to weave in-between
the fish and corals,
a magic breathing in
of ocean
in sync with our own
                          breaths
This expanse of endlessness
        …..so many layers to discover
to sway and trip the light
in quiet,
            breathless joy
The feel of electric
flow around our feet.
Saltwater,
            turning sweet.
It is time
for the next stage
                     to begin
So tip your
head back,
my love---
and
       drink it
                     in

The books you carry are so expressive
Some pages have those obvious gaps
That show even when the book is closed
They point put the places you've reread
Over and over again
Or the pages you've kept open for too long

Some have plastic covers, while others, leather wraps
Which to me hint favoritism
Or the pricelessness of your literary artifacts
While some don't even have covers anymore
But thats okay, cause with you,
The books don't ever have to feel cold

Some have bookmarks you've bought in the past
Cause you thought they were cute or had a nice quote
While other bookmarks you've made yourself
Out of cut-out folders, and sticky notes
And some have strings, while others don't

Some pages have highlights along the text
Maybe of lines you want to remember
Or of moments you want to feel again
Of places you want to visit in the future
Or of words you have yet to comprehend

Some areas have spills and stains
Perhaps from drinks that refreshed you
As you flipped through page by page
While some look like tear drops
From when characters rode with you
But left to catch some other train
Or maybe you just fell asleep reading
And it could have been just the rain

The books you carry are so expressive
Some titles are familiar, while others new
And I just can't help but wonder
How they all seem to be a reflection of you

The moment I realized
        that love was a choice
And not a feeling
        I became afraid
That you wouldn't continue
         to choose me