i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

what a thing
to fall in love with life
anywhere
except the city of your birth

forty, for three kinds of pain
swell into sixty, they suggested;
the idea of dependency and
docile, smiley dazes
too much, like a bruised sprain
tiptoeing on the edge
of a complete break

i don’t need to be happy all the time
i just need to be happy more

not everything i say is
beautiful or profound

i think sometimes i feel
too much pressure
to be inspiring, or thought-provoking
to evoke emotion in others

there's a lot of  frustration to be found
in being unable to
find the words
that make hearts thump and tears ****

a poet's greatest curse:
blocking your own creativity
by trying to be creative

embarking upon a further
journey down the same path

almost four years,
but now: newer, exciting routes
new junctions to
cross the t’s, dot the i’s

but the letters remain
unfinished, unlooped—though
the knots are still tangled

why’d the past have to catch up
with someone else’s love?

spare the reminder
of a lovesick fool,
not quite so much lovesick
as desperate to prove.

tomorrow never comes;
the future is today
and it’s here and now and
yes, yes, things are gonna

change for the better
the best endeavour of life so far
begins without her in it

isn’t that proof enough?

we made it.

fingers curl into loose fists,
grasping softly at the frigid air in hopes of
feeling the temperature change.

january, i adore you.

a fresh start, a blank slate: one entire year
of endless possibility.
january, you are freezing;
but with you comes change.

i love you, i do. but please excuse
the way my hands hold out
to grasp at March’s warmer breaths

i, too, wish to breathe a new life
warm and
full of sunshine