A breath,
in deep,
Eyes black,
and I smell your amber skin.

Another breath,
I feel your hips
cradle my hands.

Centuries between us,
yet a breath away.

I write these words
but can't feel.
My words ring cold as ******,
no echoes there.
No warmth or weight,
ashes.
A grey frost on ancient soil
as midnight blooms cold.

A breath,
in deep,
Eyes black,
and I smell your powdered skin.

Another breath,
I feel your hips
cradle my hands.

Nothing between us.
A breath away.

Do you see what I see?
Do you see the children in the streets?
Living on the streets
With no father or mother?

Do you see what I see?
Do you see the poverty and hunger and illness
Rampant
And the people, not Westerners, but the fellow countrymen
And women
In India and Congo and Uganda and Afghanistan
That work to put an end
To the injustice

Do you see the what I see?
The world
With glimpses of its entirety
Beyond the shallow bubble of existence
In a land of milk and honey and comfort
That hides its own injustices
In a closet where nobody wants to look
And everyone knows of
But almost everyone ignores

And in amongst that hypocrisy
Do you see the people
Speaking out
And fighting for you to see
What they see

Do you see the people
Reaching out to those in need
In their families and their communities
Out of compassion
People who understand
Really understand
What it is to love

Because they choose love
In the face of apathy
Ignorance
Materialism
and Individualism

That is what I see
When I look outside my window

Is this what you see?

In my dreams
I build a castle
Where the shadows dance

A mistress has found her way to my heart
With a love I cannot shake
I knew it was love right from the start
She often keeps me awake

She's on my mind both night and day
Her mystery fills me with glee
Each time she leaves I want her to stay
She's becoming a part of me

My wife just watches with a distant stare
For she knows she could never compete
She feels my love and she's willing to share
For my mistress makes me complete

She's been around for thousands of years
But things grow sweeter with age
They don't understand especially my peers
They question the words on this page

Guilt, I have none, for it's not what you think
And though you think it absurd
For my mistress is made entirely of ink
My mistress, the written word