Before he dies,
he wants two
blue-eyed daughters.
Wild, young,
mesmerized spirits
who dance in pajamas,
put makeup on the dog,
skip around strangers
on the sidewalk and
believe in one true love.
Their souls already
live in his heart
and contribute,
almost fully,
to his
emotional breakdowns
and softened view
of the world.

Alright,
you've convinced me.
Let's get ice cream
and eat it out of the tub
with two spoons.
Like the civilized pair we are.
We'll eat it in one sitting.
No,
maybe two.
I promise
this will be our favorite
part of the weekend.
You and me.
Munching on fattening, frozen dairy.
Enjoying every bite.
And each second
as we sit on the edge of the bed
together.
So, I'll get my shoes
you get your keys
and we'll make
one of our favorite memories.

He raises his left eyebrow
when he stares at my face.
Is it seductive or
a pleased and
attracted tic?
To me that eyebrow is perfect.
So is his skin and the way
he hugs me from behind.
I am fulfilled with each touch.
And every word
I hear in his voice
lifts and pleases
my left eyebrow.

Your canvas backpack
carries books and
stories too heavy.
It is stained with
ink and coffee,
you're not sure how.
You toss is on the ground
and look for it
when it's under your bed.
You reattach it to
your shoulders
and the straps whine.
Let someone else carry it.
Just for a bit.
Just for a bit.

Gutter grates
and hotel keys
these are things
you see in me.

Fleeting soul
unchanging ways
my permanence
will never stay.

The hands tick by
and I don't come
the motion of
my passing love.

Sorry is
your fondness lost.
Affections
I always toss.

I read the poetry of Hafiz
and Rumi, Shakespeare and Neruda.
Hundreds of years a part.
Yet, they all write about you.

Nothing can I read about love
without seeing your face,
hearing your words,
and feeling your skin.

I have been conditioned
like a salivating dog,
to pair your being
with love.
(and rightly so, I'd say).

For your real life love
makes the poet's words
dance
and sigh with satisfaction.

And when I think of your love,
I imagine a love greater
than any ever written.
A bond so close,
it can't fit into poetic words.

This Tuesday is a Tuesday
unlike any other.
because on this Tuesday,
I love you
more than I ever have.
You are occupying
every nook of my thoughts
and making this
long, sleepy day
joyful.

And for your love
and the romance
of our lives
I've decided to
attempt dancing
and all the glories
that come along.
For, this romance isn't
the aroma of accordion music
filling the Paris streets at nighttime,
while a couple dances
under the streetlights,
as rain begins to fall.
It's a romance about humanity
and desire and its heartache
that tries to tango in the suburbs
and tap in the slums,
whose clumsy movements cause
embarrassment for any party involved.
This love has a rhythm unlike
a big band hit or a bluegrass hand-clapper.
It has a rhythm all of its own.
Closest to, maybe, jazz.
The real jazz. The Harlem jazz.
Sparatic and unpredictable.
Upbeat, swinging cymbals and trumpets.
Then a slow sax,
with bluesy vocals crying out in pain.
Because you can't two step
or foxtrot
or tango
to that.
You must step carefully.
For this romance is fragile.
You cannot choreograph in advance
or synchronize moves
with your lovers'.
You simply must listen, feel, and move.
This dance of love
must cause you to cry
and smile
and melt
and ache
and desire to make love
all in the same motion.
Or it's not love.
It's an imitation
aimed at the beautiful and elegant.
And we aren't that.
We're humans with souls and flaws
who desire these false
motions and harmonies
of love,
but who need to still understand
love's true tender
and heartbreaking steps
that have no
recognizable rhythm,
but that promise
a lifetime of love.
So, I will not learn
love's romantic moves
for they are unteachable,
but I will attempt,
for your love
and romance,
my dear,
to sway to the music
and stay beside you
and follow your lead
as we wait for the
drums and the horns-
and the music to begin.

Contagious is her laugh
and vibrant are her clothes.
She likes bare feet on hardwood floors
and the smell of campfires.
Don't get her started on her favorite poets,
or you'll be late for dinner.
Bedtime changes-
her mind works best late at night
or early in the morning.
Consistently inconsistent,
but beautifully tamed.
She chews ice cubes
and collects mugs.
Somedays she has a hard time
seeing beauty.
Other times her heart can't
handle the warmth in the world.
Seeking are her eyes.
Longing for a member to
complete her heart life.
She picks her split ends
and paints her nails
brilliant colors everyday.
When her overwhelming
passion hits the world,
you'll know.

You have big eyes
and beautiful, beautiful souls.
You have unending joy
that explodes out of your movements.
Your fingers and perfect and
look like cute little potatoes.
You laugh at my jokes and
I laugh at yours.
We are silly together
and we make blanket forts.
We put on plays that
have no story.
You fill each day with
a happiness only siblings
can bring.
I care for you so much
and I know you feel the same.
You are my best friends
and all four of us, someday
will be together and
join in the biggest, best
group hug ever seen.
I miss you everyday and
I love you everyday,
that's for sure.
Can't wait to meet your
beautiful hearts
and be together forever.

The pennies and nickels
bounced loudly off
her cold, hollow
and metal heart.

Its valves never
seemed to work
and the steam machine
was down for the day.

Oil dripped into
her wheezing lungs.
Come clean me up!
was her only thought.

The pure, white rag
seemed so distant
but she longed
for its redemption.

She cried
tears of tar
and fell to her
knees with a clank.

the maker adores you
and every strand of your DNA
a precious embodiment of his love
his fingers are clasped in yours
20 stitches of love

Broken glass shines brightly
beautifully mangled and
shredded to pieces.
Before the fall,
its wholeness was not complete.
It lacked the cracks
it sparkled less
and all we could see
was ourselves.

There is concrete around us
there are trashcans and garbage
and babies and flowers.
There is the power and deception
of humanity and
beautiful people to be saved.

We saw ourselves in all
our (untrue) glory
and walked on broken glass
proclaiming that it didn't hurt.
Missing the light shining
from those pieces we crushed.
But that demolition is
where our truth lies.

in my eyes is you.
and your heart.
and your soul.

in my eyes is your presence.
which is so alive.
and empowering.

in my eyes is your voice.
your sweet sweet voice.
whose words bring me comfort.
& belief.

in my eyes is you.
and my muscles and nerves ache.
because of your weight.
and knowing that you're always a part of me-
seeing my world-
all the beauty it has.

or is that you?

is my vision simply tinted
by your spirit,
optimism and beauty?

your spirit filters what I see
and you are the hue of my world.
because in my eyes is you.

and in your eyes
(i hope) is me.
and my nature.

so just maybe
the view you see
is the hue of me.
like my world's
hue is always you.

woven patterns floated heavenward
as her sights became swirls
and distant images

Carolina porches
litter a broken street
creaking swings
and goodbye hugs
too normal to notice
but odd enough
to split living ends.

In that cocoon
nestled between the stone
only love existed.
I baby kissed your face
and all you could
do was laugh and smile.
There was joy within and
between our bodies.
Doing anything else
but be in that moment
seemed futile.
Your heartbeat kept
the pace of our day
and beat faster
when I kissed you.
The breeze skimmed
our flesh
and made us
cuddle closer-
reminding us what
love really feels like.
We remembered the
constitution of friendship and
its inevitable love-
All in that swinging cocoon.

Hands clasped
between the milk mustaches
on rotting benches
with nowhere to go
but nearer.
Vines entangle their feet
flutters begin and
reality lands on their laps.
No comprehension of time
the mess it brings.
Living in the current
the ebb and flow
the cyclical pattern
of living and love.
Each freckle an apology
to accompany the age lines of wisdom.
Nearer they grow
by the pattern of the moon
and his watchful eyes.
Now, they decide,
is the time to die.
To separate self from self
and self from soul.
Their last kiss brings
the sea's salty tears
and quenches the fountain of life.
It's belly never too full
it's false promises
mislabeled for eternal propaganda.
The last sand grain drops
and their hands release
crooked bodies and
even more crooked souls.
Again, they mush wait,
this time for the rain.

I am clothed with
embarrassment and disgust.
But *******
would only highlight
more flaws- that
I already must confront
each day in the mirror.
I am not self-sufficient
and never will be.
I do not have the resources
or intelligence.
This is clear to see- to
anyone on the outside.
But there is a source
of peace and acceptance
where my nakedness is
not viewed as shameful,
but as a gorgeous
mess of heartache
and redemption.

Cadaverous
is my soul
blanketed
with blackness
freed from itself
only by grace
my organs had
shut down
and my heart
beat slower
slower
slower
til it stopped.
There was an
unexpected resurrection
a divine defibrillator
that revived my lungs
and kept my
dead, ashamed
heart ticking
and ticking
and ticking.

Charred flesh
redemption of form
creating ashy pigment
too large to see
our passage home
started much brighter
but our bones have
been broken and
nourishment fled
our teeth and lockets
all that remain
left to speak
universal loss.

My love for you is abounding,
without barriers,
flawed,
and encompassing.

My love, itself, aches and
is joyful,
is loving,
and satisfied.

This love is goosebumps,
and fingers touching,
and intimate
and best friends.

We love as the waves break,
the fire consumes,
and the sheets ruffle.
We love as one.

this love is imperfect.
crying and throbbing
trying to catch its breath.
looking at each other
for the answer.
the next move.
But our dumb minds
don’t know what’s best
or how.

we stare at each other
with tears and
crooked hearts.
this love can be so painful.
our time and words hurt.
How can wounds cause growth?

Show us the truth in that,
for now it is hard to see.
and tears and heaving,
and the weight of our flaws
do not help.

I hope these are our roots
taking place-
grabbing ahold of
the solid earth.
Growing pains.
Keeping us as one
with something.
We are battling for the
best spot to lay
each root.
Sometimes I win.
Sometimes you do.
Sometimes we both lose,
knowing that where we want
our root is not where it should be.

So, we cry,
we ache,
and we stare from across the room
looking for our hint,
our instructions,
our manual.
Why don’t we know
what this love should do?

Hugging you is easy.
This is not.
So I move to you, hug you,
and we cry together
as our hearts are pulled
in ways they should
and shouldn’t go
this side of heaven.
Remembering the imperfections of this love.

you buttons pop loose
speaking of things
they could not hold.
fibers of being,
war and peace,
death and faults
and the weight
of existence.
sew it back on
but these worldly
thimbles do nothing
to protect skin
from humanity.

skin so perfect and warm
chest to chest.
vulnerability.
discomfort to feel comfort.
the requirements for mortal passion.
soon our souls will go heavenward
and our bodies to decay
with no more skin on skin.
a beautiful tragedy
overcoming this personhood
yearning for the breathless,
tingling nights.
not ready to bloom,
not quite ready to die.
skeletal hands grasp
for the promise of fullness.
satisfaction miles beyond.

but oh,
your skin on my skin.

When I journeyed into the unknown,
I became familiar with something.
an element of peace.
and silence and solitude.
the world wasn't grey.
but green and vibrant.
humid and alive.
I spoke of things hidden
and confusing to even myself.
but it all made sense.
Everything worked and lived as
they were meant to.
in this weird unknown.
How was I to know where I was?
I certainly had no map.
or compass to my name.
So I wrote and began to
dream of a world even
greater than this paradise.
Where my heart wouldn't even
remember
that there was a past
and hard times.
Just an eternity ahead
to love you.

The demon is saddled
with reins controlling
a thrashing head
limbs kicking wildly
from their chains
as a helpless babe in water
mouth seething with anger
and eyes ablaze with fury
It's mission to
****
steal
and
destroy

A beautiful time together
learning about partnership
and selflessness
and vulnerability.
We've both learned more
about this life through
our relationship
than in any college courses
we've taken.
In this time,
we've cried
and fought
and kissed
and laughed.
This is the last
Valentine's Day
before we become one-
husband and wife.
Which makes our
time together so special-
having a long past behind us,
and a long, loving future ahead of us
full of crying,
fighting,
kissing
and laughing.

Elbows on table
wood grain holding too much
face in your hands
without noises
no sobs, no sighs
no anything.
Your posture sharp
demonstrating my flaws
displaying no one's triumphs
speaking in strains
and voids between
our thoughts.

I bring you tea
place the mug on that
overwhelmed table
with no response.
Outside the air moves
the broken wind chime.
My head turns,
the legs of that
dumb chair we
bought at an estate sale
scrape against the floor
as you push away
from the table.
I see your back as
you walk through
the door.
And those elbows
that sat on the table.

Undying confession
for loving the one
for he is the one
loving the sun

Aton and his men
can taste the beam
and see the light
through solstice and steam

The harvest is plenty
the drinks are too few
the sun decides to set
and leads me to you

Helios and Sol
don't describe what I see
its shine and its heart
unclothe me

Desiring a beautiful soul
to complement mine.
Still and silent and
full of confidence.

Like mine isn't.

and it was in my moment of listening
where I came to understand
what I have received.
an undeniable love
wrapped in a powerful unconventional beauty.
and so,
abandoning all stress and tension
releasing anger and anxiety,
I accepted the gift,
the honor, really
and became not just
my father's daughter
but the Potter's daughter.
I took my gift
and it came with an avalanche
of light and unconditional
love.
So during that moment of listening,
that short, sweet moment,
I grew anew and
became who
my identity truly was.

tell me your scary stories
where your terror and fear
match the angry sea
during a storm.
make my heart race
and keep my fingers
entwined with yours.
in the end, though,
be sure to tell me
it will all be okay.
and that we will be okay
in this world.
okay, really,
turn the lights back on.
this darkness and distance
has gone on long enough.
what? six more months
of separation?
you did it.
I'm terrified.

Three days for by
too fast.
Faster than the sun rises
and sets,
it seems.
The night before,
brings me to tears
as I hug you,
forgetting to be glad
you are here now,
not that you will
be gone tomorrow.
Though, tomorrow,
it will hurt.
An emptiness
in my stomach
will ache.
So why tonight
must I cry too?

Ah, that is for
love.

I cry when my
arms are around you
and your head lays on mine
for the beauty of love.
I cry when I play
with your fingers
and tell you
"you're perfect"
because of this
tragic ecstasy
called love.
I cry when you say
I'm a beautiful and
strong woman
for love.
When you are here
or when you're gone,
I love you.
States away and
months away,
I love you.

So the night before,
while your  body
is near,
I cry and hug you.
Tomorrow,
while your body is far,
I will cry, too
simply
because
I love you.

And your body swayed red with fire.
And reminded me that passion exists.
Still. In this age of prothstetic souls and bones.
Your two feet walked like steel on earth.
Solid and understanding.
And the power that came from your eyes,
was purple with regality and a soft blue
that comforted me and the ungraceful body
I was given to call home.
Your body kept swaying red with fire.
Never ceasing.
Showing me that I have the same endurance
within me, too.
And someday when I'm stronger,
my body will sway red, too.
And our passion together will burn the brightest fire.

her face is tiled
or is it of bricks?
it is chinked with
the finest mortar
as as to last a while
but without cracks
in a sidewalk,
the city cannot breathe.

I am positive there is
no other
for me
than you.

You are it.
Him.
My only.

My best friend
and
no one else could ever feel
quite right.

You are my complement,
my other.

And that's all.

We might as well accept it
because there's nothing
we can do about it.

Nothing.
At all.

Your hands fit perfectly
in the dips of my waist.

Your chin rests effortlessly
on the top of my head.

Our souls complement each other
just like our anatomy.

lay down with me,
love,
and tell me stories
that make me giggle
and tell me your struggles
that will make me cry.
keep the lights off
so we're both staring
up at a black ceiling.
talking and sharing
our lives
and our takes on this existence.
after too much silence,
pull me close and
wrap your limbs around me.
whisper "I love you" in my ear
and kiss the top of my head.
now who's to say what will
happen next-
we may fall asleep or
things may go another way.
let's just see,
so come lay down with me,
love.

A heaviness in her fingertips
kept her always off balance
she watched her weight
but not the burdens
which, she found,
add up when you
aren't paying attention.

For it was in your love
you taught me
to love.
and wrap my branches around
another human's body
and heart.
and let my tense and
distrustful roots
breathe out a sigh
and relax their muscles.
The gentleness of your love
made me smile, blush,
and feel planted
just where the heavens
made me to be.
Your softness whispered
to me.
and told me
I am brave
and strong
and beautiful.
And your fingers
Would lightly brush my leaves,
making my eyes close
and see the most beautiful
future before us.
For it was in your love
that came a stirring
inside my heart to love,
too.
It opened my pores
and made me
believe that love can
cause any creature
in our world to come to life.

I want to have deep roots
that are untouched by anything
other than the dirt.
Wholesome, hearty roots
that understand place and purpose.

I want to know, not in my bones,
but in my roots,
how to exist and simply be.
Learning to live with less
oxygen and more heart.

I want my foundations to be
firm and unchanging
to provide stability
when the shadows
and thieves come.

I want to have deep roots
that are untouched by anything
other than the earth.

Come, let's find a king
with the answers to
our existential wonderings.
His royalty will shield
our eyes from the false
and reveal truths our
consciences lack.
The feast he prepares
will leave us satisfied
beyond all hunger
we've ever known.
Our broken bodies
will be mended.
The dirt under our
nails will be gone.
And our raw, scraped,
shaking knees will
kneel for no lies
and heal through
his desire for redemption.
He will open the golden gates
gladly and with welcome,
but far from sight as
he maintains an
air of mystery.

A beautiful king
we will find.

A heavenly, wholesome king.

September above
October below
your blue jeans on the floor
your stubble so close.

The leaves change
along with the space
between us
and our lungs.

Each autumn
breath we draw
confuses our airways
and our passions.

Your flannel shirt
left behind
before we had time
to make cider.

Gone as fast as
the snow came
your heart couldn't
handle the cold.

Find the stories within the stories,
she said. And it couldn't
have been clearer.
Search it all
and be insatiable.
Every crack and nook
in my soul must be
wholly
ablaze and full.

When this beautiful gets lonely
and our temptations aren't so tempting
it's then we must break.
This existence becomes defined
by something other than our living
other than our breathing
or even our actions.
This beautiful is not so beautiful
it becomes dull and stagnant
and suffocating.
We must look for air.
The air, breath, and life
that doesn't lose shine or
its vibrance.
Where our lonely is not so lonely
but disproved
by love and sacrifice.
And where beautiful
is beautiful all the the time.

She stood on the sidewalk of 5th Avenue
with Central Park as her backdrop.
Her figure was perfect and
her posture poised.
Those that passed paid no attention,
too entrapped in their own speeds through life.

In the lines of your palm-
the trenches of your skin,
is where I keep my heart.
You hold it safely and
keep it from falling.
The depths of your flesh
is where my heart calls home.

In the lines of my palm-
the trenches of my skin,
is where you keep your heart.
I hold it with care and
keep it from breaking.
The depths of my flesh
is where your heart calls home.

Our palms unite our hearts
and bring an aching of pure love.

For your birthday,
I want you to know one thing.
It's not that you're incredible
or that I find you (so) attractive.
It's not that I am lucky
to be with my best friend.
Or that your eyes
your nose
your smile
are perfect
It's not that you treat me so well
and hug me like you mean it.
Or that I am proud
to call your mine and
want everyone to know it.
It's not that your kisses
your embraces
your words
take me to another world
and cause me to melt.

No,
what I want you to know
on your birthday is not these.
But,
all of these
plus
one loaded phrase.
I love you.

And girl girl,
watch yourself!
those deceitful
monsters will
be sure sure
to steal.
check over
the shoulders
of the masked.
and lean your head
only on the
shoulders shoulders
of men with trust
and honor between
their lungs lungs.