Will you let me pour my ramblings into your stream of consciousness ?
Will you follow me to the edges of my milky-way of swirling thoughts
And billion endless little sparks - such shrapnel from my life
And if I explode next to the sun like her golden child
Will you count with me and blink in unison
To miss my spontaneous combustion
When another idea catches fire
Unstable isotopes of the
Depths of my nature
Where Electrons
So excited -
Laugh
With
Light
?

I love words
for their meanings
their woven tapestries
but also
for their taste.

Tell me, when was the last time you tasted a word
as sweet as strawberry shortcake
or bitter as dark hot coffee?
try it.
remember diction, now.

loquacious
refrigerator
nefarious
malevolent
tinkerbell

­feel the 'q' like a potato chip
(crunch)
the 'f' like a wind
(swooping through)
the 'b' like a kiss
(so quiet)

Gives new meaning to the age-old rhyme:
Some books should be tasted,
others devoured,
but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.

We are
Dancing ribbons
Of satin gold
A light to heaven
Radiant stairs
Ladders spanning
Angelic wanderings
Promised stars

We are
A glint spark
On Eternity’s shoe
We glow with
Secret joy until we
Clap ourselves free
Again

We are
In retreat
Yet we beckon still
To flirt with flames
Of cellophane
Which melt
Soft as flour
In our hands

We are
Sowing hopeful seeds
In tender soil
Again to plant
Such little flames
With hopes
To grow against -
The dark

We are
worth the world

and
we are*
Free

Do I give your skin and bones
a strange sensation
like you do to mine?
They quiver and pulse
without actually doing so,
my emotions have turned physical
and I have no control.
When I want you, I need you,
or else my skin trembles with sadness
and misses your touch
and the tremors in my hands and fingertips
become too much for me to handle
I am a former addict,
and you are my methadone
but why do we treat chemical dependency,
with just another chemical?
You're the smoke in my lungs,
the blade to my skin,
and the birds and the bees
when I crave such sins.
My newfound addiction,
the worst of them all
with no self infliction,
I have no control.
Even with you,
I'm not whole,
because besides my ripe age
and my tender skin
I am only a product of my sins,
my lost innocence,
and this strange sense of loneliness.

It’s hard to traverse a stubborn sea -
So, hoping the world
Is as flat out
As me
I
Will sail
Off the edge of
****** inconsistency
and bid empty hopes on never

returning
...