Maybe I’m a liar.
But here is the truth.
There is no truth
That we could
possibly comprehend.

We couldn’t handle it.
So we chop it
Up into simple little
Pieces we can fathom.
Life is easier that way.
Then we try to impress those
Who haven’t a clue.

Like an unfinished puzzle
we’ve lost the
most important piece
to bringing it all together.

But it’s gotta be
here somewhere
Waiting to be found in order
To complete itself.

Like this poem waiting
To be found for someone
To read it.

I maybe a liar but I think
You’ve found it.

If
you’re
the
moon,
then
I’m
the
wolf
who’s
howling
at
you.

I have been born
over and over
many times ago.

In familiar pieces.
In different suits.

The new blood
rushing to my head.

I end up delivered
tangled in my own
fancy knots.

Waiting for someone
like you to unbind me
yet again.

Time does not exist
For you are the perfect storm
in the center of it all

The vacuum
ripping thru space to sacred
birth new skies
in the deep horizon

the never-ending
sound of you permeates
thru the wall of eternity

the sacred embodiment
of energy, breathing
on a living planet, is you.

I kissed you there
firm and wet.
You swelled in
the midnight hour.
And you swore I stopped time
with long crafted licks,
whispers upon your skin.
As I watched a million
peeks rise from your flesh,
I knew I found your secret spot.