Oh my captor, my sweet captor,
        can I ask for just one favor?
Can I have what’s left
        of the mangled mess that’s me?
I’d like to share my bare bones
        and the holes that bare my soul
        to the one that keeps me...

                                        ... closest to her home.

I can swear that I will return
        if you set me free
        to see her
But I can’t promise I’ll come back to you
        with everything in place
        and put back together.

I heard you were bleeding for the coast
        when you were dreaming of my ghost,
        I’ve always wondered where it goes
        when you’re the one that’s in control.

See, I’m not sure what I believe
        at times...
                                        ... are we angels or just seeds?

        Are we stars or are we...

                                        ... vessels lost at sea?

Your skin is salty, sweet
Your whisper          (“follow my lead……..”)
   sends a shiver
      down to my soul
Your hair plays waves like roaring rogues
   when the sun is setting
      and the moon is letting
      the stars take the first shift
There’s no need to be selfish
      when love has come around

And some days I’m like the beach
   beaten by the actions of the fleeting.
Footprints of their thoughtless actions
   bruise my timid tongue
But my love, you bring the tide
   at the end of the day
   washing away the remains
      of the countless,
                   careless,
                  calloused
                   travelers
      with the kiss of your breeze
      with the motion of your waves

I’ve been told tides occur between any two massive bodies.
They are the result of the differences in gravitational attraction.
See,
   the force of gravity varies
      with the distance of separation
Knowing this,
   my love,
      I’ll  never turn my back on you.
Just come closer,
                       closer,
                            closer
Let’s bring the coast to its knees tonight.
Soft whispers,
   soft fingers,
      soft tempers.

         I want to navigate across your seas
         Chart every quiver, every tease
         My favorite places, love,
             are the ones no one can see…

  …uncover your eyes darling
                                        &
                                 show me your infinite

I wake up to the sound
        of empty halls
        ’cause your not here
The phone’s not ringing like it used to.

I know that you’re not coming home.

I found myself
        sitting on your empty bed.
I swear I heard your voice inside my head.

...

Then I felt the darkness come
        and cover my heart…

                                        the day the truth grew up.

I see the things I’ve done
        with a different point of view
        because of you.
And I’m not saying that I’m thankful.
                                        In fact...
        I’m mad as hell
        because you’re not coming home.

I’ve spent the day estranged
Wishing for a brighter day
The clouds were lined with silver
And the sun was gleaming over the river
But the moments I skipped over
We’re the chances I left smoldering
And if silence was the captain
Then my tongue was her right hand
And I left us both apart
And blamed the wind for my faulty sails

So without words I sold my soul
I stole a goal just to stay cold
In the heat of this mid-spring afternoon
I spent blaming myself for this lack of you

I dream in shapes, not sounds,
That bleed together to shed the ground
Of any shadows I left around
My mistakes are making waves
But I won’t leave the drag of the undertow

So, today, I made mistakes
And blamed the way the earth could quake.
Instead of seeking out the calm,
I built a storm and blamed the rain.

There are many things that I fall short on
And not getting up seems to be what haunts me.

I am grateful for the sunset
So I can start again anew

There is a glow that flows from the street lights along the corridors we collapsed when the scene had changed and the stars were filling in all the empty space up above

You and I, we started painting this the day we wrote our names in hopes we could leave a trail of ink to lead us to one another.

From the park bench in the center of a blink-and-miss town to this fantastical, flooded, fantasy of a city, l've memorized every note that built up to the crashing crescendo of every wave along these cobble stone sidewalks with sparkling marble markers making moonlit memorials of the steps I'll always cherish when I recall the moments we found the present giving way for our beautiful future.

Look around, love. The infinite is all encompassing and it's all for me and you.

Sometimes I speak
   with a certainty
   conceived by a pain
   that has all but deserted me.

And some nights there’s shame,
   and deservedly so…
   an unbearable weight,
   unnerving and cold…

And I,
   I’m feel flawed
   (but I know I’m not broken)
   I’m feeling down
   (but determined to rise again)

I’m feeling flawed…

               …but I’m not.

I’m done being careless.
I’m through with the reckless
   decisions I’ve made
   and the victim I’ve played.

I’ll rise
   +from the ashes
       of the bridges I’ve burned.
   +up through rain clouds
       never to return here again.

I’ll let the rain cover my tracks.
If I can’t find my way,
   I can never come back here again.

I’m feeling flawed…

               …but I’m not.

I listen to these poets during my morning coffee.
I’m just looking for that line, that sentiment, that metaphor that reminds me that everything I’m doing is not for you. That everything I am doing is selfishly for me, but in a high-rise sort of way. That way where every breath I take leads to a canvas where WE paint the most beautiful blueprint family portraits of skyscrapers. 5 generations of beating the odds.

And with the paintbrush being passed between us, I swear this love is just like following numbers.
Those things never turn out like the picture perfect display, but don’t they?

Of course a camera, a carbon-copy printout with a gloss stretched over, could never capture the beauty of the journey, of the struggle, of the joy. It only displays the end of the line, matter of fact, “if you do it like we want you to, you’ll be framing what WE have planned, stepping in our giant shoe print on the moon.”
But my darling and I, we don’t need to call things perfect, we don’t have to ALWAYS earn it. Sometimes love just is.

And when the unicorn calls for Orange#11, maybe we’ll come to realize that unicorn would look better with Periwinkle. Better yet, maybe that unicorn has an insufficient amount of glitter so we stray from the “been-there-done-that” and put a little sparkle in a place where they said love is just a copy-and-paste type of case.

I don’t have the experience she most likely needs and I catch my jaw clenching from time to time when the numbers called for perfection and we stepped aside in order to let the lesson of drying paint catch our attention.

We walk down different paths, in different locations, in different times…sometimes. But my darling, she sings with her mind and it gets me going every time. I’ve got the starter paint kit of metaphors and similes that spin around in my head so free. She has the numbers and where-to-starts and matter-of-fact goal charts.

Together we make this portrait ours. Not some manufactured case of “I do, You do, We’re through.” We may have started in a box, but after a few seasons of forget-me-nots, we’ve grown to be a Dali, blended in originality and perseverance. The brushstrokes of van Gogh mixed with the tenacity of Madeline Dukes.

So it’s clear to me the cover picture of the standard love is only a metaphor for when it all has come together. They could never capture OUR journey. Together WE change the endgame, all the while, I’m working to change her name.