In this darkest of hours
I am ready
to be lit up
like a firebrand
the liquid
heat is
already rising
way above sea level
and I am wanting
to extend out
my hand to you
take you to
my soft lair
of emotional rescue
where ecstasy
will drip from our fingers
like wine
poured onto our bodies
play soft or hard
yet keep it fair
no intention
to smash your heart
just to build you up
and take you apart
Each sweet piece
treated with care
re-polished
and put back into place
renewed rejuvenated
just as you will participate
in my tribal dance
and make me
glow
I will become
one with yours,
my ebb,
your flow

I am a liar
I told her I loved her
so as not to start a fire
but now that she's heard it
I must say it again
if I said "I love you" 7 times
I have lied 7 times
I don't even know how many lies I've told
even though the context of every one is the same:
I love you
this made a new truth in me
a truth I tell myself as often as I tell her a lie:
I hate myself
now that feels much better
the twisted honesty of it restores me
so that I look for a reason to say it again
I love you
I am a liar
I hate myself

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night
Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,
Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom the book is true, to whom
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.
The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.
And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself
Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

let it go, the autumn
leaf, blown
by wintry winds.

let it go, this whirl,
its shivering
in the night.

ah, beyond,
there, where
there is nowhere.

All the rivers i longed,
a moist slightly rehearsing
dawn's dew, a glitter yet to be;

every shade of crimson
i concealed, sinking
the horizon in cooled suns;

each word i teared apart,
the weight of emptiness
forbidding to dare

- all i've declined
willingly
resigning life,

i have taken, to draw
a shore, your outline,
and, clandestine,

i watch, as the rain
washes away the horizon,
in the other side of the mirror.

equidistance
of time, in
non leaning hemispheres.
paradoxical spring tide.