i think about the songs i wish i could write about you
deep and sweeping words that would compare your eyes to the sky and your laugh to starlight
compare the curves of your body to the most breathtaking places in the world and every childhood story you've told me to yards of silk folded and stored reverently in the attic of my head, on the shelf closest to my eyes so i'll remember them always
but then i remember that
these verses tied to your wrists with delicate, translucent chords
while they may make the tide trace currents in the lines in your face
they will not make your heart collide with mine

They say I'm in for a year long trip. But maybe less.
a year, or less, of sea sickness, the kind of which no Dramamine will soothe.
I'm surrounded by water I can't keep down
and kept afloat by dark women in white coats.
This clipboard is my life-vest.

Better say good bye now because,
when I finally wash ashore, it won't be to the home I left.

My bed will look very different.
My lover, too.  It will be much longer than a year for her.  
She'll live a lifetime, again and again, with every moon and every sun,
Her body revealing the truths her spirit can't yet face.

Until then she'll stand by water's edge and throw corked bottles of brilliant green past the froth, invoking Poseidon's dominion,
inaudible over the ocean's orchestral din.

There is an ocean in between us.
It churns in violent winds
and shimmers in shining sun.
The inky black depths of this ocean
seem to reach infinitely down;
I've yet to find the bottom.
An entire world lives in this ocean
and it is one that I'm not a part of.
A toe dipped into this water reveals
the true frigidness that lingers just under the surface.
The ever moving waves pull me in
just to push me away again.
I can hear the ocean through the
empty conch that was once full of life.
There is an ocean in between us
and we're still holding hands.

By the grace
of your kiss

I enter the door
of this bliss

finding myself

newly created
by you

in the image of
your love

the kindness of your hands
offering me

the gift of this

your smile

the only true
religion

I can believe in

your eyes
the only prayer

that I know

your laughter
the only heaven

known to me

your lips
the forever where

my soul
enters

to kneel
before your heart.

Crazy am I driven by the idea,
the possibility,
of another's kiss on your collarbone.
I recall St Valentine's Day,
when your **** Jagger lips told me
'I'm yours'
with such sincerity
and that I could hold you to it.
And I will.