A toast to vulnerability.
To tying ventricles and fingers
To the bravery of fear and being braver still to face it.
To romance, to ***, to sweat beads sticking hair to skin and tongues to lips.
May love be bolder in the arms of our lovers
than our blood brothers.

Well being, being well and seeing as that's okay make me well as well, but a well can be deep, can it not?
so with that in mind I've got a long rope.

Also
and there's almost always one also to add to things that I also don't know
so
I put also into the algorithmic mix and get
answers in the form of equations which mathematicians expound on at length whose length is as long as the rope for the well that is possibly deep

I keep going round the houses to get to the place that I want and the place that I want is well being and all being well I will get there.

As I was changing my settings I noticed
Explicit poetry, by default, is hidden.
What is poetry but the explicit?
The clarity of everyday
Are melodies of vulgarity
Strung together.
Tinsel on the ****-tree.
And when you poets talk of love
The plutonic is a bore.
You say beauty as a synonym
For *******.
BEAUTY IS *******
*******.

If hellopoetry has a swear jar I owe a lot
But at least I don't hide what I say.

I've held on to you
for too long.
I won't write another
poem about
it.

I smoke marijuana
to reason with my head
drink a quart of liquor
to get me in bed
yet thru the miasma
a drunkard's word is true
so believe it when I'm slurring
the vowels in "I love you"

blank.
inviting intimidating
I've neglected poetry,
left it in a cat-**** basement.
it hasn't eaten in weeks.
dehydrated
dessicated
burrowing thru
gossamer and cerebellum
with a wooden spoon.
it escaped thru my mouth today
getting back into phosphorescent
sunlight.  
malnourished, weak
but fighting.
of all the things I've learned
from poetry
it's how to fight back.

looking at the lessons I've learned
chasing dragonflies, collecting mud between toes
like the mushed crust of the earth,
falling in and out of love like rivers
there was no definite answer.
there was the spirit of wisdom
without wisdom
and a cyclical flow of endings
where buds never blossomed.
but still they're here with me
being and not being
in the back of my mind
and the tips of my toes.