Paint splattered princess
Palace of sisters and kings
The secret forest

Here we sit together in a park
Of splendid rumors
A dawn of turbulence bathed in
The glamorous shine of scandal
Yes indeed we have heard stories
Apart from each other we consider
A silent jewel to be an
Accomplice to the nature of
Ambiguity

You must think I disassemble my personality
To ****** a blue foam
A trickle fire erupting its
Blossom water on the edge
Of my nose
We have argued to speak no longer
Of a cuddling electric sea friend
Unless we are under the fragile net
Of sleep draped with angelic murmur
Watching in ***** position I
Helped the sun turn our
Arrangement into attractive dust
Dust however will be left

Not to chase across infested
Roads
Yet counting how many particles
Explode the roofs off an
Unappreciative town
One by one and with all that
Is familiar with the multitude
Of destructive glory
Fashioning a farewell sigh and
Letting our hands tremble
Ten stories above our rhyme
We cursed the wind leaving
A mystery drowning

A certain romantic light plays with my senses the way liquid streets uproot steps random in their dances!
I love it when we smile in lamp-light seconds!
I can always desire you in temporary trances.
A poet at work is like when love strikes with lances!
You calm me in your green meadow romances.
I ask of you, introduce me to the fire of your glances.
At times I need to sleep with the integrity of historical stances.
I will remain myself however lonely in miles or milliseconds. To make a lover out of life is to ask the moon for a dance.
Whether or not she refuses I will continue to love our chances.

A crown of raindrops
A sadness like royalty
Their kingdom of tears

Here we sit together in a park
Of splendid rumors
A dawn of turbulence bathed in
The glamorous shine of scandal
Yes indeed we have heard stories
Apart from each other we consider
A silent jewel to be an
Accomplice to the nature of
Ambiguity

You must think I disassemble my personality
To ****** a blue foam
A trickle fire erupting its
Blossom water on the edge
Of my nose
We have argued to speak no longer
Of a cuddling electric sea friend
Unless we are under the fragile net
Of sleep draped with angelic murmur
Watching in ***** position I
Helped the sun turn our
Arrangement into attractive dust
Dust however will be left

Not to chase across infested
Roads
Yet counting how many particles
Explode the roofs off an
Unappreciative town
One by one and with all that
Is familiar with the multitude
Of destructive glory
Fashioning a farewell sigh and
Letting our hands tremble
Ten stories above our rhyme
We cursed the wind leaving
A mystery drowning

Above all let’s escort desire into loving waters
Our prayers will suffice among the waves
Celebrating in kisses our gentle revolt
Putting faith in the tides and our wet embrace

Liquid churches you might say
float along the ocean
We who throw parties in the sea-spray
are known for our fluid devotion

Whirlwinds in bedroom
Bodies flying with kisses
Late at night friendships

I breathe her in soft landscapes of airy music. To embrace her is to step into a castle made of blue fireworks. The scent of her neck sends me falling into the sea of lovely intoxicants. Her face is my favorite place to gaze at. She is the spectacle of any simple space.

Waves crash like your dreams
Changing and always rolling toward the shore
Loves are sea splattered
Your smiles are beach drenched
Seaweed in your hair
And you present a mystery
©

Streaked by the hours of moonlight
She sweats upon a rooftop cradle
A slow showering of heated liberation
As I swing along the fragile nesting of ivory branches
Stretched under the magnificence of her stability

And let her mouth, that soft vessel
Divide the gentle tide with a smile
That casts upon the crest of evening water
Two halves of a seashell

And let our embrace, soften the cool air
That parades around us, shedding secrets from our hair
And let me hold that hand that trembles
When the evening undresses us
With a yellow wink

I want to take you
Into the infant’s tower
Of purple evenings
and casual space

dancing held hands
out on terraces
of crystal vines
for a single face

and towns below
might see the steps
taken above on warm beats
in flooded minds

our thoughts will trample on air,
the senses clean tonight
with your soft feet
ornaments of this light

now take me into
days like night
where your heartbeats, can
now be my sight

Curtain rips glass breaks
The queen is not invited
There are regal shards

I rise again
From rough American ashes of the past
Like a dark brown eagle
With eyes full of his loving blonde girlfriend
I strike slowly
Gathering the momentum of love
Through the satin country of my fantasies
Do I strike with new care?
Or finally slow explosion sparks illuminate the air
Lanterns of disgust
I whisper darts into them
And swing from wild branches into the cities
I pass by with ruby eyes
And smile at soon to be saturated citizens
The crowds sparkle because they’re in love with
Something before I got there
I’m lighting matches everywhere
Trying to start bonfires of awareness
And fierce love inspiration
While pointing out the most tender stars

Our country alive with tiger eyes
And swift yet sometimes slow
Gorgeous human behavior

© Matthew Goff

We can manage a dull afternoon
When punished lilies
Imitate the army of rebel waters
Sneaking away on tiptoe
From an empire of lawful soil

Watchful of flood signals
We will wait for a jealous wasp
To peel back the detonators
For springboard demolitions
Fancied on limp petals

While soldiers of nectar’s plight
Talk over plans with bees
We see an enemy of discreet magnitude
Inside us, a showering of infernal degrees
Our hearts soaked in criminal teas

And I had begun to rustle through the papers of which I had been given but an hour ago by a young , teenage girl riding a bicycle in the style of anxious hurricanes screaming ‘want to hear some news? This news is not a noose! Then slowly take your hands off the ****** pew!’

She had indeed surprised me but I had gotten used to erratic weather and she was just another tornado under circumstances of a discreet charm.

I say discreet in its appropriate sense. For I’ve seen more peculiarities in the same people who probably would have searched for a more suitable term in their definition of absurdity.

And if I go down in flames, let me go down in a freedom reflecting upon your laws a ferocious flower, staining the moment that you gave birth to hypocrisy!

Paul and Sara ride
Burgundy lipstick her own
A flash radio
©

The waves created a lady for me to talk to
I told her about you
She rose out of the water like an ocean bride
Someone else’s though
Some lucky lesbian siren perhaps
Or Neptune’s discreet mistress
I don’t know
We met each other in midair
I slowly leapt off the edge of the balcony
Gliding towards her over the sand
She levitated a moment before meeting me halfway
A conversation of crystal sadness begins
I told her my name and she told me hers
Her name was Transparency Flower

All of this dreaming came first with a silent knock upon the glass. At least one of the girls had pretended to. Three redheads pressed each other’s bodies up in the corner, huddling as if they were some team about to spring their paws across some morality clause.

She wears broken glass for earrings
Superior failures
Relationships that sparkle with intelligent pain
Eyes full of nighttime bliss

invitations on the silk sheets of evening
anxious to fold itself into letters of perfumed language
which absorb the night of its juices
leaving an imagination soaking wet
©

I could appreciate her today. I had been watching those golden gestures compliment the frame of elegant houses. And for moments alone on a reflective sidewalk, I had forgotten what my face looked like. Yes, she was a whistler of pastel importance. A type of language only significant when the island pores of sensitive humans bleed open shamelessly and without counsel for their tears. The afternoons have a style all to their own, and I remember glass.

Slow motion crash kiss
Afternoon lightning with them
Exploding models

The ****** Versus Everything in its Mirror

I personally know very little about ***. Virtually nothing. That is speaking purely of physical *******. Still, I can speak forever of worlds that soft sparks construct in a single kiss. It is here, in the palace of naive angels tender and young, that a nervous heart beats the sweetest trembling of rhythms in the day’s surprise. It is from these voices of subtle breaths, in the immediacy of experience, that I have found a language most akin to absolute philosophy in momentary bliss. A language spoken only through the silence of smiles. A universe of colors shared by the adolescent chameleon in our souls.

© Matthew Goff

The Silver Glaze of Speed
or Memory Sped

While passing along a shiny strip made by the street glamour of cars, moving to the rhythms of wishes fashioning a most coveted secret.
I am content with an inner radiance showing her off in my thoughts. Down here the lights are an old girlfriend that remembered I like the flirting backbone of highways…

© Matthew Goff

That night Sara and her mother, Judith, discussed her future. Sara had a tattoo of a raven on the upper part of her left arm. She loved the poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Sara and her mother disagreed about the bright jewels that laid ahead for her. She saw life as one romantic road, and her mother would often strongly object. Sara’s friends would say she blew the moon too many kisses, and was not grounded enough for realistic choices.
©

Above all let’s escort desire into loving waters
Our prayers will suffice among the waves
Celebrating in kisses our gentle revolt
Putting faith in the tides and our wet embrace

Liquid churches you might say
float along the ocean
We who throw parties in the sea-spray
are known for our fluid devotion

A certain romantic light plays with my senses the way liquid streets uproot steps random in their dances!
I love it when we smile in lamp-light seconds!
I can always desire you in temporary trances.
A poet at work is like when love strikes with lances!
You calm me in your green meadow romances.
I ask of you, introduce me to the fire of your glances.
At times I need to sleep with the integrity of historical stances.
I will remain myself however lonely in miles or milliseconds. To make a lover out of life is to ask the moon for a dance.
Whether or not she refuses I will continue to love our chances.

She pours perfume through the waves
And gets ready for her sea-date
Rebels against her parent’s teenage warning
Crash of youth in the ocean
No one sees the splashing
And kissing in the sea

Sunlight invasion
Sad faces smack the stars bright
Explosion crying

Like a dark-blue angel I walk these streets asleep
Spilling water-thoughts for my sky-blue girlfriend
And with much ease splashing about a serious desire
To express the fluidity in my style of loving her

With her pale-white precious face of a place
Upon that space the moon introduced a sister-image
And in winter’s name with delicate snow-like fame
Dressed my lover’s hands in white cotton gloves

Are you anxious, my dear evening? Are you not my closest friend? (Where is your cousin, my memory?) Can you not wait until that one afternoon, when we will pounce upon the horizon, like cats in heat, and tear the sun apart limb from limb? We will leave its sensitive shine to sweat upon pathetic days no more! Yes, the evening is a villain I’m proud to call my friend. Her ways allow much more room in the playground for mischievous  lovers, than those dull afternoons spent thinking about breathing. Where is your cousin, my memory? She has served a type of convulsively appreciative use for my feelings and continues to parade around my daydream swing set. Nonetheless, she has always remained a spectral participant in my life, pregnant with regret, and punctures my comfortableness with the sweetest of stings, leaving a taste with me she knows I’ll never forget.

The fierce winds that split fragile columns blow back cerebral gusts into the architecture of fantasy. The palace of intellect withstands an avalanche with its armies of random faith. They are the soldiers prepared to defend thought. They also serve our temporary foundations. A building is blind with its empty rooms. Such realities cannot construct themselves while emotional tigers tear at the linen curtains of air. This animal needs to become a seamstress. We must learn how to sew our designs carefully and part from the claws of our subject if we are ever to express its grasp on us. Life tends to manage our divine center the way hurricanes play with dust.

© Matthew Goff

During the month of October people eat pumpkin
The queen is nowhere to be found
A famous gymnast gives lessons
A train conductor also teaches History
Cursing while doing cartwheels
A couple is going to the movies in leopard coats
The question is pizza or dirt

I know of pink corners in the mind: Forest of sweet perfumes, whose travelers lend a hand to the ******* of sunset and its nervous mapping of amateur stars. There is a moment’s history in the certainty of salivating worlds: An odyssey for lovers who play cards at night and whose ideas for strategic foreplay are used like stilts. Hovering over a table, soaked with invisible juices, they are found flirting with each other’s secret personalities—heirs to the hormonal vibration of wet thoughts.

© Matthew Goff

Are you anxious, my dear evening? Are you not my closest friend? (Where is your cousin, my memory?) Can you not wait until that one afternoon, when we will pounce upon the horizon, like cats in heat, and tear the sun apart limb from limb? We will leave its sensitive shine to sweat upon pathetic days no more! Yes, the evening is a villain I’m proud to call my friend. Her ways allow much more room in the playground for mischievous  lovers, than those dull afternoons spent thinking about breathing. Where is your cousin, my memory? She has served a type of convulsively appreciative use for my feelings and continues to parade around my daydream swing set. Nonetheless, she has always remained a spectral participant in my life, pregnant with regret, and punctures my comfortableness with the sweetest of stings, leaving a taste with me she knows I’ll never forget.

Two half-naked bodies whirling about in the streets. Our thoughts pillowed against soft winds that blow a friendly touch under our skin. To explore love with a stranger is not a sin save for those intentional grins. A shoulder of yours exposed in this light flashed against my eyes. Already a tender friendship with your body. Watching your eyes watch me watching us with calm degrees intending such. Your awkward smile is beautiful because it is sincere. A nervous breeze encircles our waist and words disguise a melody unchaste. To make a love out of meeting you is the same love preceding you each time an effort is made in completing two.

I am part of a secret race of bedfellows who, while draped in the rose linen of sleep, lash out at the dawn, a suffering enterprise, with a multitude of blinks, signaling revenge to the moon, my ally, which in the sized light of the sun, we can no longer see, yet, waiting until it sneaks up on the horizon, like an uninvited guest, our dreams will conspire in unison, like an army of winged blades, decapitating it in its own shine, leaving its bleeding fluid to sweat upon a flower, we will let it put butterflies to sleep!

Spend time with me sister! The sister I know I don’t have, a confusing passenger in my mind, that continues to bleed upon the apple-peels in my daydreams, where has your real reason for being envisioned burrowed? Is it not beneath the coal-white heated sands of my misbehavior? Or in the convenient pleasures of misjudgment. Either way your whisper wasn’t loud enough for my distracted eyes, those mobile shells recording the affairs of a race in which I am far behind, far too interested in spying on the obvious I often rest.

Towards love my thoughts run high
But with regards to women
in seeking their embraces
through pursuit never I
No, my desires speed through the trees like cats
With one girl in mind
I stalk the idea
with feline and fierce appetite

© Matthew Goff

Amusement park love crash
Blowing kisses through roller coaster rides
The wind blows their hair around and satin crushes
Holding hands sparks afternoon warmth
The evening descends and sheds stars around them

She walks by wearing blue stockings in the rainy afternoon
Her youth is like a tender dream
She wears a pair of adolescent stars from her ears
All her boyfriends, when they speak, sound like cool rivers
In the sky-blue of the day
She smiles
The way lilac bushes crush petals into joy

Spend time with me sister! The sister I know I don’t have, a confusing passenger in my mind, that continues to bleed upon the apple-peels in my daydreams, where has your real reason for being envisioned burrowed? Is it not beneath the coal-white heated sands of my misbehavior? Or in the convenient pleasures of misjudgment. Either way your whisper wasn’t loud enough for my distracted eyes, those mobile shells recording the affairs of a race in which I am far behind, far too interested in spying on the obvious I often rest.

Look her night costume
Silk kissing in the moonlight
Wave with fishnet gloves

A hunger for each other in the sweet winds
often blows a feather-blade against the skin
While glances shine off our bodies like
soft whips in the heart of sin

I love your licentious mouth
in waves of honesty spilling diamonds
An open language without shame
While embarrassing truths bleed out the games:

False arena in which we prey
upon another’s confusion, confusing the sane and
insane jewel of our wonder?

Her nail polish sparks
She’s dripping makeup tonight
Slow kiss conducting

Pink walls outline the hormonal oceans
To peel back the secrets of wet
flesh against swimming pool corners
through waves of swelling libido
that crack the senses against the reefs of water-love

Warm and white pillows on a bed of black night
I lie awaiting only you, nocturnal angel princess of secret flights
Over the clouds shall leap our light hearts and our eyes
Hand in hand in rescuing youth away the two of us will fly

O youth in tears over memories of pure delight
Hide not your face but let it shine this time
In the funeral of adulthood swine my right!
In kissing you I proclaim this precious life divine

© Matthew Goff

Secret worship in the eyelashes

Inside the day, convulsions sweep me within the circular tide, whose currents endlessly root themselves along the shores of disappointing sentiments. Abandoning a singular precision, in using reverie with a blade to carve out the jewels with splendid contour, fashioned after the exquisite role of the past, I have failed to attract the elegant throats around which I stalk the beautiful endlessly.