it's nights like this, when we tangle
together like weeds in a seabed of lust
i beg for once, your eyes instead
of your mouth, would confess
how you felt for me.
your lips grow like ivy along the grey
mortar of my spine, your fingers write how
much they don't love me all over my body
and tiny birds take flight from my breath
to be together, is to be apart
when i am with you every word is a mistake,
we press our lips together
harder than we want to press
them against each others mouths
i keep tripping over apologies
and you just want someone who
is steady on their feet
i once knew a boy who told me
he wasn't an artist, but painted
the shores on my cheeks
when he spoke, even the trees leaned
in to hear his beautiful lies

Life and other things
Have kept us apart all these years,
Since the day we never said goodbye.
And now grey sprinkles my hair
And I think I'm getting mature....
But I still live hungry in heart,
The sound of your whispered words
At my neck,
Our bodies locked in dance;
Oh the hell with it,
I'm still crazy about you!

Lyrical waterways,
Prepare for a backhanded slap,
Then a second blow;
I don't care about your personal
Problems, as long as it's written
Poetical, you and your weeping
Streams with a deluge of emotional
Lamented problems are tolerable
As long as it's written with some class.
        Now give me your poems,
Though only few draw water,
I do not claim to be the best,
Merely a lover of it,
I will heart you, you will see
Lightning and like the child of a nymph
Be happy to see the fetching comments
I leave to you.
     I will squeeze sweetness from you,
All it takes is a click, light footed words
I read beforehand when you copied
Off a poet you thought no one had
Read before( I study a lot more than you know)
Ever the herdsmen
I preach a doctrine of poetic originality,
And lately I see few worthy,
Myself included,
Now pucker your words like lips
And lavish this poem with a heart,
Or don't, I am real,
Or fake, and I only love poetry.

And I wrote the Heavens,
And wrote havens for the Heavenly
Til all the bright buds wilted,
Milk no longer flowed,
And now my muse left me for
Some dude in Canada.

     Oh siren mourning over the mist,
    That I was a bird of prey
     And was taken by your claw!
    How silly of me to sing the Nightingale's
     Transformation in the verses
    I lost myself to you,
     And in comes a chance of change
    You roll over to the next guy
     With a Daily!

Oh Muse,
The masterful strokes gone,
This arrogant upstart would write
You the last sonnet of air
That you might breathe your echoes
Upon my words,
Bequeath me the inspired harmonic
Yielding the poetical mastery to my paper!

   Oh muse,
   You old hag!
   I'm left with crooning
   Your ungiven name!

Though their bodies were not strangers,
They did not know each other.
She needed no storytelling,
Nor promises that would never
Reach the ears of God.
He gets up and leaves,
If she's lucky, she will be asleep
When he does,
And forgetting or remembering
A dream is never a choice.

how I serve
all my words
uncertainty
is my dearest friend
or maybe oldest enemy
either way
it's always around.

The clarity of the quarter moon
Voicing itself toward the waters,
       The purity of self absorbed moments
Discovered in the nocturnal prowess...
       Receive the night
As the fathoming echoes stay there,
       A bird sings,
Edges blur over hushing fountains,
      The world is a song of transformation.

I’ll be ready with the palm leaves
Upon your return.
I’ll lay them at your feet as you grace
Me with your presence.
Crowds will form and chant your name,
For they know that joy has arrived.
Countless hours staring out the window;
I have memorized the stains on the glass
And made friends with the spider on her web.
If only I had a web of my own to keep you
Adhered to my side.
You said it wouldn’t be long.
You lied.
Memories sustain me.
Hope contains me.
Who do you think you are,
Toying with my sanity?
Ah, my soul’s keeper,
My grim reaper.