When the water crests
And falls
it's white skirts swirl
Invisible hands
Flinging the folds
And feet patter
Hands clap
The waters dance

I look into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, “Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!”

For then, I, undistrest
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.

But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Hey
Don't write
Love/hate poems
While drunkm

and to you
i send a kiss
on your left temple
for peace

We are the ones who paint with words
thoughts and feelings soaring like birds,
horrors, dreams and things of the night
indelibly scribed for your delight

furrowed brows are forced to think
in pastel shades and jet black ink
scrawled in haste in an hour of need
raw nerves scraped until they bleed,

there is no cure or magic pill
we lost our freedom to the quill  
slicing our souls down to the bone
to leave a legacy carved in stone.