We collide like thunder.
Wrapped in your indigo skin,
Wrapped in your warmth,
Fingers dig through the ache
Of wanting more.
Coiled tight,
Clinching,
An reaction of skin
pressed against skin.
I wear your shadow.
Thick in your sweat.
Like lightening you stretch.
Your breath rises,
In search of something to devour.
Again we collide.
Striking the gap
of emptiness between us.
Your eyes searching me.
The primal urge
to connect.
Still searching.
Still craving.
Marking where we lay,
Until the next storm

A hermit crab
In love with his bongo.
Scuffles on with his bongo beat.
Each thump filling the empty space
Around him.
He walks the hot concrete.
In search of something like home.
His shell dragging behind
Weighing him down.
The thump no longer loud enough
To move its tiny body.
The rhythm barely rattling around its
shell.
After a while everything can turn into a drag.
But still, he scuffles on.
He smiles, stopping to take a break
On the grass.
The concrete burning his feet.
His tiny claws scraping across the bongo.
He looks over to his left.
To find an old boot.
Nodding her head, tapping the ground
Following along to the beat.
Although weathered, she too smiled.
Echoing back his loud thuds.
Her sole cracked but full of life.
Life happens in the strangest way sometimes.
Two outcasts alone.
Drumming up stories without a word.
Scuffling on a bongo heart.
Life doesn't have to be a drag all the time.

arms brush on the hands of a clock.
infatuation discovers love
longing to twist and turn into one another.
caught between the tick.
every second that passes
they wait to cross
the hour becomes an echo.
reverberating in hesitation.
anxiety grows impatient.
each minute expanding to that grand moment.
their shadows contract.
the tension of the world fades.
their skin darker than their shadow now.
in a heart beat the clock tocks.
you cannot tell them apart

Your voice forms the bricks
Of a well built home.
It holds in warmth on a hot day
And stores heat on the cold days.
Your voice is a shelter
One that thunderstorms should fear.
Regardless of strength.
Once it dissolves.
Embers of warmth
Still reside within the bricks.
When you speak,
I find that I am home.
A place I am whole.
A place I am safe.
I always know where you are.
Even with both eyes closed.
Between the mortar of bricks
I find your breath
And lay my head beside yours.
The walls a rich tapestry
Framed in communication,
Filled with your breath and pulse.
I live in your marrow.
My every forgotten dream
Rested and remembered.
Your voice forms the bricks
Of this well built home.
Reminding me
That love. Is not just a word

The universe spins and swirls.
Mixing dreams both light and dark.
My ship's hull darts through
Molten caffeine.
I sail in search of the constellation
Closest to your lips.
Like a myth the coffee's steam rises.
Mounds of sugar crystal urchins
scrape the bottom of my ship.
Some frozen in place.
The horror of old wives tales I've heard.
The center of the cup hotter than hot.
Stories of no survivors.
Circling and spiraling in the center
Of a ceramic mug.
I can no longer tell how high the steam
Rises.
I now see that the stories are true.

Through the lens of my telescope.
I see it.
The nebula of your face.
It won't be long now.
Steadfast.
The curve of your lips.
I am now one with the universe!

I am an immigrant
lost in a foreign land.
lost in the language.
Abandoned in the promise of home.
Sacrifice wells its tears in the eyes.
Alone, further the thought sits in.
The breaking of trust twists
and turns in the chest.
Not a soul to turn to.
Not anything reminiscent of home.
The thought of your name brand new.
A place my dreams could roam free.
Stuck in the anticipation of being
a part of you.
I've wandered the streets of your name.
Ambition, now lost and afraid.
Once eager to climb the ladder of your
streets.
In truth all of it was a dream.
Your kiss now dried, now hallow.
Your hand now chipped and flaked.
I've told you my truths
My dreams.
You've turned a blind eye.
Swallowing me in your cracks.
Forever lost in the dark

You stirred the ***.
Taking parts of you.
Parts of me.
The good, the bad.
Even the things that aren’t
So pretty to look at.
And poured them into
The pan.
It’s easy to forget about
The hurt until you come
Face to face with it.
Sour peaches aren’t the end
Of the world.
No matter how we layer it.
These are the things we’ve
Come to love about each other.
Even the hurt becomes mixed
In a sugar glaze with enough time.
No matter how bitter.
The brown of my skin
Mixed with yours.
A recipe that’s been done
And passed down before our time.
No matter how much of a mess
We think that things are,
No matter how bruised a peach
We accidentally pick up.
Nothing can replace the warmth
Of a cobbler.
Straight from the oven.
Soon we’ll both be fast asleep.
Your head rising and falling on my chest
With each breath I take.