The weight of the world
     is love.
Under the burden
     of solitude,
under the burden
     of dissatisfaction

     the weight,
the weight we carry
     is love.

Who can deny?
     In dreams
it touches
     the body,
in thought
     constructs
a miracle,
     in imagination
anguishes
     till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
     burning with purity--
for the burden of life
     is love,

but we carry the weight
     wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
     at last,
must rest in the arms
     of love.

No rest
     without love,
no sleep
     without dreams
of love--
     be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
     or machines,
the final wish
     is love
--cannot be bitter,
     cannot deny,
cannot withhold
     if denied:

the weight is too heavy

     --must give
for no return
     as thought
is given
     in solitude
in all the excellence
     of its excess.

The warm bodies
     shine together
in the darkness,
     the hand moves
to the center
     of the flesh,
the skin trembles
     in happiness
and the soul comes
     joyful to the eye--

yes, yes,
     that's what
I wanted,
     I always wanted,
I always wanted,
     to return
to the body
     where I was born.

                         San Jose, 1954

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

When we live together, all will be swell,
but we don’t have much time ‘til you want kids so
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.

You’ll do the dishes ‘cause I hate the smell,
I’ll do the bills ‘cause you hate math so
when we live together, all will be swell.

You’ll come with me for that ultrasound gel
But I’d want to abort this alien so
We’ll live together, at least ‘till farewell.

Donate to Goodwill so we needn’t resell,
We both love creatures - we’ll donate to them so
When we live together, all will be swell.

I’ll **** that child before it can excel
but it’s been your dream to have children so
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.

We’ll end up a story for me to retell
“Once, I was in love but it didn’t work” so
When we live together, all will be swell.
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.

Woman,

     You ask that I write you a poem everyday that you are away from me. I willingly spill the words from my soul, I sacrifice myself and fall upon the sword of the pen, the drops of blood like rain from God. And they fall to paper, all that I am, all that I hope to become within you, in a poem to you, at the moment so far away.
       Today, alas I have spilled so much of myself that I too require a filling, a need that sustains me like my words that feed your passion for me. I need the touch of your hand as we sit upon the portico resting on that sunset purple gold, that which lights the stars when darkness falls.
       I need the soft of your lips as they graze the nape of my neck, the stride like a galant mare across fields of shimmering lilies, I need the kiss which fits me like gloves in the cold depths of morning one feels as they take in the first chill of morn.
      I need you like a poet needs words, I need your depths that fill the abyss like the blood fills the body, or the lover fills the woman, oh this wanton desire for the touch, the kiss, the experience of being with you.....
      These are my words, these are my sonnets of infiltration to your soul, a haiku of touch, a verse of making love!
     My love all that is poetry is required by your presence. Simply put, the motions of our love.....that which must be experienced,
       we are the poetry in motion.

               Missing you dearly,
    
             The poet who lost his words.

Unhinge your jaw and shut your eyes
because the best things in life are simply felt,
and you’ll feel it everywhere if you’re doing it right.
A spark of electricity will ignite where your tongues dance
and it will sizzle through your teeth and down your throat,
lighting fires where you didn’t think could burn.
Curl your toes and knot your fingers into her hair like it is your lifeline.
Weld yourselves together, crawl into each other.
Run your tongue along hers until everything tastes like ‘we’.
Don’t forget to breathe; share the air until it’s gone
and all you have left to survive on is each other’s souls.
And whatever you do, don’t stop kissing her.
If you do, your lips will lose all meaning
because their only purpose now is to taste hers.
Your eyes will open and the world will seem a little grayer
As your soul untangles itself from hers.
Your tongue will become a defibrillator,
trying to revive the moment,
trying to recreate the electricity only you two can make.

My lungs are on fire.
Tendrils of smoke lace around me,
Dancing between my fingers,
Sputtering out of my nose.
I breathe in deep.
I’m coughing.

My throat is on fire.
The more I quench it,
The hotter it burns,
Licking my spine,
My gut.
I’m dizzy.

My skin is on fire.
Or is it yours?
Flames scorch my hips,
Caressing my legs,
The inferno consuming me.
I’m luminescent.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.