I will stretch and bend
and even if I break
I will mend

eyes that dive into mine
you swim in the blue green of my irises
and sink to the dark abyss of my pupil
i think you could drown

a voice that sings in prose
the rhythm and tone sweeps and glides
you speak as if every word is an entire poem
you must like how your voice sounds

a body that moves like the long grass in the wind
effortless saunter you grace the air  
your skin stretches to contain your essence
i wonder where your body will usher you

a mind that i do not yet know
tumbling with philosophies and theories
an artist an architect of emotions
you live in your mind

the loneliness of a pair of eyes
deep and serene as a vast field of wildflowers
nestled between great mountains

they see your beauty and feel your allure
your bight colors make them feel alive
your novelty makes them feel worthy

the lonely people come and pick of your abundance
they take you home and display your essence in a vase
a memory of vitality

until the flowers choke and fade away from their Source
so the lonely people return
day after day they pick a small bouquet

because the field is endless
so it seems
what’s a few flowers to a whole field?

they picked the field to scraps of color barely vibrant
the field has grown thistles and thorns around its edge
with a riddle guarding a single entrance

“What are You that I Am?“
(to know you must
become the field)

a flash of backwards attraction
eloquence of erupted sensation
permanence of pressing agendas
episodes of earthly silence
i could follow my mind
into oblivion

in this moment i write
i do nothing but write

I feel for all their specificity the particular textured depression
of each key beneath my fingers  
I mul over each syllable and idea in my mind
toying with it's taste on my tongue


i let myself sit in silence when no words come


in this moment i write
i do nothing but write

no distractions exist for me here
i stare at the upper corner of the room between words
i reread what i have typed
i stare at the blinking line as it reveals my next thought


and i let myself sit in silence when no words come


the poetry is in the silence sometimes

some kind of hole not felt before
a new absence an unfamiliar gape
a desire for someone
on whom i could shower fondness
like spring rain and
pour passion on
like a summer storm
and float affection on
like a winter snow
someone to mindfully walk through the seasons with
knowing that their current state will pass
but present in their ephemeral beauty
and trusting in their nature to come again

Mmmm connection
warmth flows through sound waves and tunnels in my ears.
the lightweight presence of fondness settles between my ribs
distance for once is relieved that it did not separate but rather brought together

Mmmm perfection
kind sensations of affection my heart hears
a dedicated time spent deliberately
distance for once not resented but honored as a tether