A spark is always present
to start a conversation
to set a fire in ones hart
for one can not love with out that first spark
with out that first sensation there is on everlasting love
there is no love just lust with out a spark
and ones who have lost that spark
I feel for them most for to have lost the spark of love
is to lose the spark of life itself

Don't breathe
If you breathe
He will hear you
He will find you
And you will die.

You see him
Through the slits in your door
And he sees you
But still you hold your breath.

He calls out your name
His voice soft
Inticing
He says that he gives up
Like this is some sort of cruel game of hide and seek.

Your lungs burn from lack of air
Your body aches
Tears fall silently from your eyes
Don't make a sound.

Without warning the door slams open
You see his dark eyes filled with
Anger
Hate
Love
His mouth curles up into a smile

"Hello Sunshine."

Tobacco smoke drifts up to the dim ceiling
From half a dozen pipes and cigarettes,
Curling in endless shapes, in blue rings wheeling,
As formless as our talk. Phil, drawling, bets
Cornell will win the relay in a walk,
While Bob and Mac discuss the Giants' chances;
Deep in a morris-chair, Bill scowls at "Falk",
John gives large views about the last few dances.

And so it goes -- an idle speech and aimless,
A few chance phrases; yet I see behind
The empty words the gleam of a beauty tameless,
Friendship and peace and fire to strike men blind,
Till the whole world seems small and bright to hold --
Of all our youth this hour is pure gold.

No matter where you were
or who you left me to
Who you left me for
or why;
I’ve written us down.

I’ve remembered every sound
every word, every curve
of your lips and
your waist.
I wrote it down.

We share a bad habit
of always coming back here
after all of our disasters;
and we spill into each other
as crimson ink
on the tattered pages
of a borrowed book.
It stands out.

I replaced our lapse in time
with a project of a girl,
a down in dumps
lost and lonesome soul —
a fixer-upper.
And still I wrote to you
and of you.

I wrote how
we’d tread lightly on new ground
each time, safe
at a distance
carefully timing the old dance
that we do twice a year
never missing a step
but still missing.

And these pages go back
quite a way,
to the first shy hello
and the first lie we told
to everyone
and to ourselves.
Sometimes the sentiment
raw and explicit,
sometimes read between
lines and lovers
Even still, our story
seems destined
to rewrite us.

It was deep April, and the morn
Shakespeare was born;
The world was on us, pressing sore;
My love and I took hands and swore,
Against the world, to be
Poets and lovers evermore,
To laugh and dream on Lethe's shore,
To sing to Charon in his boat,
Heartening the timid souls afloat;
Of judgement never to take heed,
But to those fast-locked souls to speed,
Who never from Apollo fled,
Who spent no hour among the dead;
Continually
With them to dwell,
Indifferent to heaven and hell.

I find it strange
The cracks that surface
when silence rules the air
and solitude the heart

As the previously scoffed
transforms its cruelty into
realization of obvious avoidance
oh, the fangs from that muffled shroud

Yet, in this place
where trickles of thoughts
become raging rivers
that bear too much burden
and burst the dam of denial

Peace can be found
for in this underwater funhouse
Reflections can become guides
that will lead (me & you) back to self