as the sun sets

we melt beneath the horizon

our ears pressed to the wind,

and eyes to the skyline

our hearts beat rhythmically

under the new moon.

the dawning of a new time,

the sound of an old truth.

Cold coffee.
Brown.
But brown isn’t really
Cold coffee.
Tepid and minor,
White sliver swirls
Slowly caressing the
Milky hazelnut brew
Concocted for the witch
Or woman
At table 8.

A quarter cup left
Of the 12oz pleasure portal
Or just a hit or fix
Hot beating heart shaker
Soothing, steaming, black
Cream laden
Laced with sweet hints
Of bitterness.
Cocoa. She can detect.
Cooled by the hands
Of the clock
Ticking
As I burn my finger
At 12:02pm.

An onward we go.
Pulsating in time
Moving with fervor
Motion intoxicating
Spinning gently
To the rhythm
Of a to-do list
Never ending.

Burnt mahogany softened
With pale pastel
Honey Cream.

Cold coffee
In a cheap white mug

I see stark contrast

skin against pavement.

poles adorned with lights

governing the flow of life

ceaselessly.

I avoid fluorescence

and beg for fleeting glances

Yet I somehow accept

the relevance of belonging

here

momentarily

the slow distant bellow

of a drum beat

As I discover my song.

medicine woman
some old wise enchantment
brushing her way through thickets
thick with melancholy
as the sun tailors its way through brush
heavy, gleaming,
wet from the tears of
last night’s rain fall.

in her flesh
a story sits
unfolding
scattered
by its own predicament.
how cautious can one be
too afraid to bare the weight of the ages
trickled down through time
she's been young a thousand lives
fear her not
as she begs renewal
fear her then
when her thoughts were fresh
incomprehensible
when she'd bend
or plead for the love
of another.
in the story wrought
from fact, truth, or fiction.
untangled and dismantled
she remembers it not
yet you see it written
in words by the dozen
or a fleeting glance
the story sits
in her flesh.
touch her only with love.

Her raspberry lips pressed
tightly against mine
And I wondered if she’d stay
locked like this.
Uncertainty bellows out
from a cavern within.
I am but alone now
I was alone then.

hop scotch

a writer

pieces

break apart

like letters in words

of a poem to your loved one.

I demand

closure

disclosure

of my insides

rampantly splayed out

across your carpet.

I make myself known,

Uncanny,

flailing out,

released by phrases

set upon a page

I am relevant

only until

relevance is no longer

I am swayed by the ink

by your tongue.

Gasp.

I am not glory

As it all is undone.

Hold on.

To me darling.

As I break apart.

Letters

Of words

Stark.

Like those blank squares.

it wants to shut
when the rain comes pouring down
yet to feel only the glow of the sun
may do it some disservice.
to feel the mist on the edge of the storm,
or better yet,
to run out in it,
as the rain pummels down
so furiously that it hurts
your tenderness.
to feel it all,
to open up to it.
The thrill and the hurt
until it hurts no longer.

“You intricately beautiful, rich, deep, dark thing. Brilliant light and the darkest dark. With stories to tell and emotions to share. Simple and complex, you are the paradox of life made manifest. I love you like I love the ocean or a forest or a sunset. Or the night sky. Leaves changing colour, falling, decomposing, nourishing new life. Fresh young flowers. You are all of these.”

the sheath, white

coating pale skin

as moonlight discovered

her wholeness

spreading out over the river.

-

the depth, craved intrinsically

like the blood that gave life

beneath her flesh,

was sought after

in the midst of madness

and concrete.

-

She bellowed deep

within a forest

a jungle

her home

feet, muddy and quickened

with a worry of returning

to a stale world.

-

but beyond imagination

she lived there

still.

under the waxing

and waning moon

between the trees

and thickets

against the cool

pull of the river.

And here she gathered

a sense of peace.

there are some nights

and some mornings where you just wake up like that

like the moon had gotten under your skin

and fresh hands want to rip it out again.

-

I’m satiated by a knowing deep within my being

resting

as wild thickets burr up from beneath my chest

I don’t know how they got there.

-

As mindless apologies plea for another beginning

I waver upon a life where second chances come too quick

my thoughts thickened with heavy traces

of every foot print ever stepped.

-

He meets me again in the back ground

I wonder why it always comes back to this.

the female body
resolves in fleshy form
stolen no longer
from man
a weakened heart
bares a heavy weight
she is stronger now
strong enough to let it go.

my bones play a beat
soft echos from the body speak
your skin plays a lie
soft secrets form an alibi.
i’m sinking now.
hold on to ground.
beneath it she moves
to softly make a sound.
-
hold on. she cries.
soft secrets and quiet lies.
taking my time
taking my time.

He asked me if I wrote much anymore
I couldn’t comprehend enough
to plaster any words onto a page.
Everything that comes out seems
laced in sadness
And he mentioned the darkness
of his current project.
Sometimes we need to spill out
in words or songs
and it doesn’t always
look how we are told it should.

'This too shall pass'

rings through my ears

and sings the present truth

as my eyes begin to well

with something

I was hoping was forgotten.