night slept when she spoke,
creeping  back into its ceaseless
void in reverence or awe.
day paused enviously
at her brightness.
the winds fervently whipped
as she moved, and caressed
her in a motherly wrap.
she viewed this beauty
in nature as it viewed it in her.
taking aim at sunset,
she set herself
to become the beauty
she beheld.

The soul has as its sextant the ribs opened wide,
The heart its compass in fluid circuitous diatribe,
When each to zone the geometry of Greek sky  
With its powdery fabulism of centaurs and jars
From Aesop’s wine of words, the untimeliness
Of sundials to Charybdis’s bloom of giant watery eyes.

To know oceans by the dry riverbed of my pulse,
To scale only as high as the sparrow’s tomb of my heart.

night and day— a unison
in serene dawn,
entwined in hope,
lust, fun.

then flecks and flashes of flesh
and light snare souls
with optimism
and choke with reality.

until night and day, crossed
at the harshest bit of twilight,
are dead.

there’s
something
comforting
about
the
vacancy
in
­my
heart

without the burden of expectation,
i flourish the way i’ve always wanted.
i have planted a seed of loving myself
and doing it so ******* fiercely
that it can’t be denied, and it blooms.
regret, fear, and uncertainty have burned
away and their ashes nurture this new soil.
i will tend this garden in myself
and speak crystal clear and loudly proclaim
that i am worth loving and i do it boldly.