I dance

Alone and in silence
To the music within me
No one hears

I dance

With grace unbalanced
Like a swan on water
With no fear

I dance

Like no one is watching
Even though I know
No one hears

The sweet sound within me

But I dance

With great pride I dance
With love I sway
To the sweet sound no one hears
But I dance anyway

Long walks, long talks under the south sky, we knew it was love
December, snowflakes, cold night but you made it warm
White gown, black suits, sweet vows, but that’s not how it ends
Black lies, midnight fights, angry cries, we know it’s not love (not anymore)
  
This is the morning when the French man curses Paris
This is the morning when the sun loses its light
This is the morning when promises become lies
This is the morning when are love kisses the lips of goodbye
  
Chorus:
Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter
All that we have withers
Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September
I can ******* tears, I can feel my fears
You walk away with no words of love to remember
  
Whiskey, dancing under the night sky, I have heard you died
November, tears fall, sorrow cripples like a thief
Ugly box, pale cheeks, another goodbye, I pray to see you breathe
Regrets, lost love, indecent goodbyes, you left me twice
  
This is the morning when the French man turns to dust
This is the morning when he takes his life
This is the morning when memories fake the aches
This is the morning when even fears and tears can’t bring you back
  
Chorus:
Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter
All that we have withers
Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September
I can ******* tears, I can feel my fears
You walk away with no words of love to remember
  
Coda:
Your awkward smile, your deep blue eyes
Old  photos will remind they’re once alive
Your broken dreams with an unfinished song
No more Tuesday nights for you to sing along
  
Because on the eighteenth of September there’s no morning, only mourning

the words sliced deliciously
drawing not blood
but ink
furious passionate ink
she was just words on a page
in a human shell
he was just
another who wanted to try
with expendable arms and legs
but still the ink came
the words sliced horizons
not vertically
so as not to ****
only to bleed
and before the cut
has a chance to heal
pens and greedy fingers
jammed into the wound
hoping to take
the last drop
of art

Life is like lemons.
You can do so much with them
like flavor salads
and top cakes.
Some people don't like them
so they cut them open,
and drain them out into the garden
so their flowers will smell good,
then they throw them away.
But the people who use them for good,
those lemons will never be sour.

Selina grew up in an orphanage
she was a *******
her father disappeared
after the Great War
her mother
dead from poverty
She was a Catholic
of the highest devotion
she loved Jesus
and Saint Joseph
and after she was
past schooling age (14)
she went off
to serve as a maid
for a good Catholic family
she wanted to be a nurse
but circumstance dictated
that she never could be
not enough school,
then, when she was 17
the 2nd Great War came
and women were needed
to work the steel mills
and shipyards
of Stockton England

she got a job
painting bombs
she signed little things on them
like,
take that ******,
but the job
caused her asthma to flare
so she was reassigned
as what was then known as
a postman
clopping around the streets
happily delivering mail
She met a man
named John Hartley
and she intended to marry him
her friends warned her
he's a bachelor,
a woman hater,
but he was also
quite the handsome soldier
they married
after the war
and had five children
three of whom
became nurses
proud tears falling
like rain drops
a life of hardships
which she batted away
with Christ as her shield
summed up
by her
giving her children
what she never had

From the Heavens she came
in a whisper of angels
a sigh in the night
to breath me to life.

Her heart beat with mine
her blood in my veins
as one we remained
til dawn tore us 'part.

Every tear she cried
fell from mine eyes as well
every laugh she cooed
thundered in my breast.

The years passed with grace
delights and sorrows bound
still within my heart
she beat ever still.

Tides of time worn on
her time to go came
the bind was ripped
my grief unbearable.

Flailing she paddles
the waters of life
stranded by fear
without line or shore.

I cry in the night
to hold her once more
to bind again solace
and security's grace.

She will not hear me
nor will she see me
she has cloaked her eyes
and silenced her ears.

I am a beacon
in the night
ever waiting
for her call.

Blood of my blood
breath of my breath
shall she return to me
my arms await her.

Can we pretend for a bit,
                that every day is a bicycle waltz?

That every day is filled,
                filled with wine and whiskey love.

And skin feels like heaven,
               when no one is watching it touched.

That your body & my body,
               will never grow tired of the endlessness of each other's.

Everyday should be a bicycle waltz,
               With you my dear,
                                      *my immeasurable amount of intangible motion.