Bless the poets of the past
who wrote all
without the applause
of ten thousand clicking mice

who poured out souls
on paper
in dimly lit rooms
... alone

who spoke the world
through rhyme and verse
to bless and curse
the meaning of it all

who first haunted your heart with words and lifted your spirit with prose
only for the sake of putting thoughts to the pen
           ...who made us out of 26 letters.

You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.

Your scar tissue is majestic
I love the way it glows beneath your skin
Divine designs aligned in such a way
They make me lose my mind with sin
and I wish I could possess you
just so you can touch yourself
the way I would
so you can feel that way
Whenever you need to.
Darling,
I want to swim in you like an ocean
And get lost at sea for days.
I want to traverse your peaks and valleys,
Trace your hand - drawn cityscapes
leave no stone unturned,
Unearth your hidden geyser
As we both learn
new things, eternally
About your maternal Earth.
I want to burn you with the raging fire
of my infernal desire.
Like a volcano erupting a dozen miles in the sky, I will cover you
with the wreckage of my incendiary lust.
But I will forever nourish your soil
with the forest of my love.

The sun hung low,
sliding down below
the trees,
whose leaves had turned a golden yellow
from autumn's adoring
kiss.

The clouds looked gray,
seeming to bring in
thunderstorms
that weren't to come,
at least not today.

We spoke of
mysteries,
created poetry in our
realizations,
harmony fostered with the gentle
breeze
as we laughed.
The aha's and uhuh's,
the self-discovery and
conceptualization,
they were the sermons,
the creed,
the metanoia.

The rooftop sunset was
the sanctuary,
the gust of wind the hymns,
the moments of silence were
moments of reverence,
our spirituality
birthed in the
gravel
under
our feet.

The world is
our religion.

I am feeling so many things all at once,
a whirlwind of emotions,
frantic and furious,
circling the drain of my mind,
planting landmines in my heart,
subjecting me to explosion,
to drowning,
that I somehow feel none of it,
an empty shell
exhausted,
dried up from everything
I should be feeling,
I am left feeling none of it,
and maybe once I rest,
once I let go,
once I forget it all,
once I feel nothing,
I will then feel
everything,
and everything will feel
me.

I like to walk the bridge at sunset.
I like the feeling of the
Light autumn breeze on my face
As my calves burn,
Pacing myself for the
Two-mile-long journey.
I like the colors the skyline makes,
The soft periwinkle that fades
To turquoise, that
Transitions to a pastel yellow
And drips down into a warm
Scarlett.
I like the art
The city buildings paint against
The sunset.
I like the peacefulness,
Steadiness,
Tranquility in the river,
Its current rippling
Gently in rhythm
With the steady beating of
My half-broken heart.
I like the way my heart has begun
To mend itself,
Once shattered to a million
Itty bitty
Pieces,
It strings itself back together
With every walk,
Every step
Across the bridge,
Across state lines.
Sometimes I'm surrounded
By crowds,
Other times
It's rather calm;
But the faces, regardless of bounty,
Are lost on me
As I lose myself
Deep in thought,
In reflection,
In an attempt to
Forget you
And remember me
As only myself,
Before you and
After.
Day by day,
Step by step,
Sunset after sunset,
Ripple after ripple,
Autumn breeze by autumn breeze,
My senses are heightened,
One by one,
My pain is relinquished,
Little by little,
And my broken heart is mended,
Bit by bit.