I wrote a letter the other day.
dancing around the subject of dragonflies
I don’t speak in their language
honestly its too complicated
because I don’t speak in nuzzles
I don’t speak in love
I speak in the cold attitude of indifference
I mutter thoughts in blue ballpoint pen

To him I speak in keyboard clicks
with a snap of a twig we flip
and we are in the same room
matching cereal bowls
emptied of their contents in the sink
We speak in notches on a bed post
and a mattress on the floor
We speak in unwashed sheets
He crushes my disdain as if it were a walnut shell
and informs me that I speak in my sleep

Whatever the weather we stay at home
stare out the windows at the fairy lit wilderness
jotting down whatever concepts come to mind
he is cream rolling in peaks
smooth and whipped
poured over his duvet
as if he were cool whip on peach pie
He is my worst intentions personified

I wrote a letter the other day.
dancing around the subject of dragonflies
I dont speak in their language
but he speaks mine
even though its complicated
we don't speak in words
we speak in private displays of affection
we speak in caring closed door moments
and the texts he asks me to send when I walk home alone
To make sure I am safe
and In the end I may mutter thoughts in blue ballpoint pen
but He reads them loud and clear and responds in love

So divine such grace
Words not made to embody
Ballet when God speaks

You are fire in the night.

A glittering sigh whispers across an indigo canvas, painting pinpricks of cool light along its way.
The stars shine coldly from their pockets in the sky.
But you.

You are fire in the night.

The moon-washed trees shiver beneath the cool gaze of the stars.
The stars. They are ice, they are snow, they are a biting winter wind.

But you.

You are fire in the night.

A ribbon of river dances off into the fading evening sun.
I am tiptoes in the day; in the day, I fall like water.
In the day, I want to stay; in the day, I do not falter.
But by darkness, I am dust.
I am flammable in the night.
Like the trees, I am moon-washed
         (in fact, I am moon-dusted)
and like the trees, I shiver beneath the cool gaze of the stars.
But you.

You are fire in the night.

You are fire in the night, and I
I

                I

                         combust

               as you approach.

He isn't the moon,
But its sultry glow

He isn't the sun,
But its shine

He isn't the clock,
But its time

He isn't the hands,
But the holding

He isn't the poem,
But its rhyme

He isn't love,
But my heart

I remember my young body
Barely free of stitches
You placed me on a motorcycle
And laughed when I crashed

Night,
I love you
like a bride
loving her body,
the madman
the desert,
like the horse
loves its shadow,
the sad the lighthearted,
I love you like
a wanderer his ballad,
a poet his dark room,
like the moon.

You are the truest part of me
When I close my eyes, it is not to sleep,
But to fade into a place where holding onto you keeps me sane and safe.
It is often called reality.
And any place where our love is stopped from flourishing
Is nothing more than an ill conceived nightmare.

I still have faith I'll wake up to a bouquet of your kisses, sweeter than any rose could hope to be.

Want to play a game
Lie to me
See what happens
It will be so fun to watch me at war with myself
My natural inclination to trust
Versus my accumulated skepticism

Oh it will drive me mad you see
Throwing my limbs against the wall
Trying to see how far they'll bounce off
And when I discern the situation
I become a lot more cold
Than you are used to
The one who dried your tears
Turns their back
Says grow up

Now every word
Every act will be treated as lies
Because once I find one lie
I will give up on finding any truth