.
The moon undresses you, little bird,
Your eyes are indigo skies without stars,
Your breath is summer grass after shower.
How you hold your arms before the night,
A lance of milky sheen and flailing bliss,
Your arms arrest as they softly surrender
And your ******* overflow in moist shores
Of white sand and shells, little ears to kiss,
I am drowning in your curves on the waves
From the sea, delirious with eye of moon,
Drunk with wild ocean as it consumes me,
Your hair is new grassland to run through,
Windy as a child breaking for the beach,
I latch my fingers to yours like driftwood
Tangled in kelp, the salt we share, steeps,
Is **** and deep and our lips are shucked
Oysters, blind, iridescent, sliding with eyes
Into the famished throat of ***** heavens.
.

And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And if you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.

I don't want to talk about what school I go to, or what program I'm in. I don't want to talk about how I work in retail part-time or how busy I am. I don't want to discuss where I'd go on vacation, or what I hope for in the future. These conversations are just spoken in order to have a response, I say my piece and ask "what about you?". You'll take a deep breath and start on where you started in school and how you're stuck right now in this dead-end job but you swear- you swear that you'll know when the time in right to make a move in the right direction. You'll say you want to go to Thailand, and Dubai because of the cultural experience, but you'll never actually make it there. I don't want to talk about my family, what my mother or father does for a living. I don't need your compliments on how highly I was brought up, how perfect my life must've been. I don’t want to sit there and agree with you, and smile and giggle and say “I know, that’s why I’m different.” The funny part is you’ll think I am. When I get to know you, you’ll show me vulnerability- you’ll launch into some story of how even though you had friends and everything was completely fine you never fit in. On how your grandparent’s death affected you, or your parents divorce or moving cities. And you’ll look into my eyes, wanting sympathy, compassion and understanding. Because, you know its there, I give it freely to anyone who needs it. But after its over and through, once you’ve told me… that’s it. That’s who you are, that’s all there is to you and when I ask you what you’re thinking all you’ll say is nothing. Nothing. Even when you’re thinking something. I don’t want that anymore. I want someone to converse with me about what’s beyond our limited human level of understanding, I want someone to be honest about who they are and what they feel and I want someone to look at themselves as a work in progress instead of a completed artwork with chips in the paint, for once. I want someone who will look out onto the ocean and sky and see what I see. Someone who will explore what could happen if we simply, suddenly just lost gravity. If we all fell into the sky, if we all just suddenly choked in space and died. I want to explore if we’d see one another on the other side. I want to lay in a field and listen to the wind in the grass. I want to feel the earth beneath my back and smell the warm fragrance from nearby lilacs. I want to be purely myself and not harbour any judgement, I want to love freely and openly without any punishment. I just want some sapience and a soul connection. Maybe I’m just asking for too much, or the universe just wants to teach me a lesson.

We are all poets
We all spit it
One time or another
We all **** with words
And sometimes commit ******
We all are poets
In a sense
When our words turn luscious
And resemble hymns
When our words inspire
Awakening angels and sometimes demons
We are all poets
I have no doubt
Ive been spoken to
And felt
The words so deep
Touch wounds stitched up neat
Touch hearts last beat
Make heart skip beat
And repeat
And i know it
We are all poets

The snow is thin and pale today
like that girl –
you thought –
from the Home Depot –
the palette of an empty day

I think, instead
to smooth my hand along your arm
extend dominion 'cross your chest
To till the damp ***** of your shoulder
in surging heat
of earthen tones
to find in winter flames
your brow, your cheek, your neck

...your mouth that way...

This is the braille I'm all about
being far-sighted
and just too close
to even focus on you –
your eyes –
and all
the loss
these days