When it's dark in the city,
I like to take off my glasses so that everything blurs together
And I can't tell where the lines start and end.

It's like the world becomes a painting,
One with globs of oil coming off the canvas
And you can make it look like anything you want it to be. 


And if I twist my neck around, 
I can see everything that I can imagine.
Like one where someone is in love with me and if I don't want blood under my tongue, 
There doesn't have to be.

One where I can walk surely and I don't have to take off my glasses to feel safe.


I can touch the halos around the street lamps with my fingertips because of the peaks of paint and I can sleep at night because of the dark sky. 
Sometimes you are there and sometimes I am alone and the same painting can mean a million things.

A million beautiful things if I let it.

I'm terrified to say it out loud to say that I have fallen for your deep eyes and deeper thoughts.
Because I know that you can never hold onto me.
I know that something in my soul
will never let me rest.

I am pushed forward
away towards anything and everything.

You haven't noticed, love, that my heart doesn't stay one place for long?You haven't noticed, darling,that there is too much air in my veins,
pulling me off of the ground,
away from more than a few short moments?

I'm terrified to say that you can stay until the sun rises
because once you start seeing me next to you in a messy bed,
it will be impossible to not see me there
even after months have passed.

Have you not noticed, love,
that I don't plant roots?
That I can't hold onto much more than
a photograph and a dream?
That I can't help myself from becoming something new every **** second?
That one day, maybe soon,
I will pack up my bags and leave before you have opened your eyes in the morning and I will be gone.

On to the next life.
Not because I have to, because I carry my heart in my legs,
not in the ground.

You say I am a sunflower.
Yours to keep, yours to kiss and hold up to the daylight.

Don't you know, sweetheart,
that sunflowers only last a few months?

I've never been kissed so gently
so purposefully
as if the world depended on your lips      
and my skin.

I'm not sure what you see
maybe a flower with thin petals you don't want to rip,
maybe a face of porcelain you don't want to scratch,
maybe a healing heart you don't want to bruise.

I've never been kissed so softly,so cautiously,like you are somehow made of shattered glass
and are careful not to cut my skin
just because you are broken.

As if you don't see the scars and burns
that already pepper my heart,
as if I'm the fragile one,
     thin and feeble,
small and unreachable as if there is a chance I could melt into the ground
if you hold too tight,

and maybe there is a chance I will.

It seems like you map out the placement,
like stars making a curious pattern in the sky,
beyond either of our reaches.

I've never been kissed so delicately,so deliberately
like the winds at midnight across the ocean,
powerful and moving,
soft and caressing.

As if I'm a gem you have been searching for,
blood red,
milky,
uncut
and you don't want to snag your lips on my edges,
or maybe you don't want to scratch the surface.

I'm not sure I will ever know.

It all began with Love. 

Love beheld our frame; 
He looked upon our wretchedness and saw beauty.
He looked upon the hatred in our hearts,
And saw Love.

Said Love, "I will shower my affection upon my beloved";
Then Love gave
His most treasured possession
—His only Son.

So Love humbled Himself; 
He minded not the frailty of our frame,
Nor the vainness of our nature.
But He robed Himself in flesh,
And came.

Love sent not an angel,
No, not even a cherub or seraph did He delegate.
He sent the best resource there ever was;
He came Himself.

Then Love took our hurt, 
suffered our pain,
experienced our rejection,
endured our death on the Cross,
and paid for our sins.

So Love repaired the breach,
and atoned for our misdeeds;
Himself the Sacrifice,
and Himself the Priest.

Love broke our chains,
that we may experience the Father's Love
—undying, unbridled, and unrestrained.

Then Love returned in the Person of the Holy Spirit;
and Love stayed.
Love taught,
and Love played.

Love sought,
and Love found;
Here is Love
— Love Unbound.

You were there
from day one  
You are my father
I am your son

First taught me to walk.
Then taught me to run
You are my father
I am your son

Fished with me
in the hot summer sun
You are my father
I am your son

Gladly accepted
each girls heart I won
You are my father
I am your son

Taught me to drive
that stick it was fun
You are my father
I am your son

Saw me off to the army
my adult life begun
You are my father
I am your son

Now I am married
perhaps a grandson
You are my father
I am your son

The angels came calling
your time here is done
You are my father
I am your son

I really miss you
this grief weighs a ton
You are my father
I am your son

You'll always be my father
now I've become one
I am the father
I have a son

A blank notebook stares at me,
Crisp pages, neat edges and lines
A pencil sharpened until the tip ******,
placed by the side.

I carefully carve slanted letters,
bundle them into words, into sentences..
and gradually,
I switch to sketches and doodles;
weird shapes,
mindlessly drawn (mostly spirals)..
Dragging the pencil to and fro
until it becomes blunt and curved.

Pens are convenient
but pencils are better.
You can always erase the mistakes,
though they leave scars and marks.

How long I sit there, I don't know.

I go to sleep,
and an abandoned notebook,
buried under tomes,
sits quietly on the desk,
telling the stories I've written.