At certain intensely
solitary hours,
when the journey
to the center of the self
brings awareness to a level,
where  duality is intolerable,
my bold **** self
with nothing to hide,
haunts the other:
the one merely dressed to ****,
challenging time and again,
for a wrestling match
--a fight to the finish.

All aglow we were
from the smoldering
ember of love within.
Each felt the warmth
loving hearts exude
when we all were
in an extended embrace.
Then we heard love
singing to us sans words
"None of you would
feel complete
without the others
in this web of love
hereafter"

I had a dream last night,
You were there but without a face like usual.
We stood atop a cliff,
I stood too close to the edge like usual.
I recall a deafening silence bouncing off the waves.
You couldn't hear them bash against the rocks.
I turned my back upon the sun,
Setting deep into its routine slumber.
I faced your faceless face and I spoke softly,
Loud enough to break apart the silence;
Like great claps of thunder,
'Tell Mum I fell'.
You didn't flinch when
I stepped backwards;
2 steps too far.

The night was so lovely
neither wanting it to end
Maybe that is why we joined
together in the dark cool waters
With the moon as our only witness

There was freedom in the water
Freedom in looking at the moon
and what a moon it was :)
I could only ask of it one thing
Please don't let the morning
and him come too soon

and it scares me because
the glow in her eyes and
melodious rhythm
in her words give me the impression
that she enjoys talking
about these things.

And it's not
one of those mindful zen
practicing acceptance
attitude of gratitude  type of
scenes where she loves it out
of herself and heals all
the heavy scars she wears.

It's like she revels in her misery--
I just don't get it man!
Maybe I'm doing some
wacko projection thing
or that I'm reading too much
into it all. I mean,
I am a bookworm. But,

There's just something about
the way, the feeling or
the tone that vibrates through
my soul like a friggin' red light Spider Sense
that gives me the creepers.

She'd say that she's simply
stating facts and, while that
may be true,
I just can't help but hear
some callous time ******* black-hole train crash rejoicing;
like a perverted hymn
to misfortune and gloom.

I don't know man, maybe
those are just the tunes my mom enjoys playing.
Could be that's just not my
style, or how I approach
something like that.
I try not to judge, but
some **** is just doesn't sit
well with me, you know?
I can't help that.

I said
Baby, I've run out of words
All the old writers took the good ones

She said
I'm sorry, suga
They're such big selfish turds...

Why don't you post that one I like
You know, of cloudless climes and starry skies..

I said,
Baby, I can't plagiarize
Especially Lord Byron
He's a famous poet

She said,
*I know it, honeybun
But your old stuff's gittin' tirin'.