park your thoughts
in a book-
blank with no
bias not even
lines to skew
where you ideas land.
show it to no one,
but to everyone.

He keeps me warm at night
his breath-
in and out-
on the nape of my neck
sends goosebumps
and satisfaction.
His arm around my hip,
turned on its side,
like his,
so my back and his chest
are one.
He keeps me warm at night
and when I toss from the images,
he stays right beside me
holding me
securing me to our bed and this world.
His chest rises and falls and his
noises begin.
And I am there, beside him,
to take it all in-
his breath
his heartbeat
embrace and feel
and know that he's with me there
under the covers
keeping me safe and warm.

and days like this
i miss you more
than any other.
in this cold
i could see your           breath
and our bodies
wouldbecloser.
for the warmth,
of course.
your glove fingers
wouldn't fit into
my mitten hands
so you would
put yours
in
my
pocket.
on days like this
i miss you more
than any other.
this time,
on
any other day
we would be
sipping       hot     hot
coffee
and making jokes
about our past.
we would
probably
make a fire
if we had remembered
to get wood.
if not,
we would gather
all the blankets
sleeping bags
and quilts
we owned
and would make
the greatest
coziest
blanket fort
on record.
days like that
are ones I miss.
and it's hard
that today is
not that day.

Taken to the Rock,
an unknowing sacrifice,
Fathers should protect,
not aggress and ****,
but when he follows,
and agrees to the plan,
eternity is in place.

the laughter and song travelled up the stairs
and parked themselves in her room
she cried for the joy and
she cried for the brokenness

It rings in my ears
the sound of your taste.

And the smell of your touch,
lingers on my eyes.

Your senses won't leave,
they're engrained in my brain.

Forever you've marked me,
a permanent branding.

Yet, with you gone,
I taste with my tongue.

I hear with my ears,
and I feel with my skin.

But I'd much rather
sense your love in my bones.

we sit in dark
without the light
wondering why
it isn't right

and then it's clear
wait for the day
to cleanse our hearts
and shall they stay

yet it still sticks
we won't release
we cling to hate
fall to our knees

our souls aren't straight
they fall and sin
and sit in dust
they cannot win

it is the light
which shows it all
its forgiveness
conquers the fall

never again
must we be here
with filthy souls
to bring us near

it has been done
and light will win
our souls come out
fresh to begin

I want you.
To have your arms around me
and push the hair off my face
as you hold my neck
for a kiss.
I want you.
To tell me things that are true
and show me the kindness in the world
and believe in me.
I want you.
To sing in your falsetto
and speak in that idiotic accent
while I roll my eyes at you.
You can have me, too,
if you want.
I guess that's only fair.
I can tell you jokes
and make you smile
and kiss you.
Boy, will I kiss you.
I want you
to know I want you.
And have never
been more in love with you.

floral pattern on the bed
chipped paint on the dresser
woven rug on the floor
the dog on his pillow
faded jeans on the chair
frames on the table
(you know the one
with us at the fair)
your pillow next to mind
my arm on your empty side
I lay there with nothing but
you on my mind.

When these bodies are lain
under the ground,
I will still remember
the lines on your palms,
the smell of your hair
and the marks on your skin.

With no attention to time,
we no longer have to wait
for the night.
We no longer have to wait
for our moments.

The pattern of your body
is just as beautiful
and just as real.

When our eyes were blue
we hugged longer and loved fuller
until we cried from joy
our favorite color was beauty
plain and simple
our eyes stared at wonder
our souls were fields

When our eyes were blue
we proclaimed our love
and melted into the passion of the world
our fall came without warning
and shattered became our souls
our eyes turned dust ward
with empty comprehension
and we sobbed for the broken ones

buoyant
lives
with no
substance
sailing
as a
leaf
in the
wind.
"I am
okay,
I am
not
drowning."
Yes, but
you are
not
flying.

Everything I see
brings you to mind.
The carpet lines are
the stripes on your shirt.
The red bricks are
your lips-
and, yes, they smile at me.
The windows of my house
are your eyes.
The thick grass
moves like you hair
and my fingers want
to scratch your dirt scalp.
Every white car
is yours.
The wind is
your voice
and the sunshine
your laugh.

I see your photo
and it's only
an image,
yet you are
always around me
and soon enough-
your features
that I see
in this world
will be real
and physically near.

Staleness
(you must know)
is a problem
of the heart.

Stagnant at best
apathy is
(of course)
an art.

In those eight years,
you may have been oblivious.
But,
I've always known.