Consciousness is a point
where lights are absorbed
concentration is tested
nothing should waver
from the path
alone and lost
only the still
and silent
gets the key
to unlock
the world
where you
and you alone
a realization
beyond
you and the point
will be
one

Paint me in my silhouette -
abandon colour
and add some different hues,
like black or
black.
Contrast the sky to my skin
because we're both
fading.
Add some light to
differentiate
the dark outside and
in.
Shadow the edges,
mix the black with white.
Smudge our reflections
in the corners -
blurry our projections
in your
eyes.
As you see the
life leaking out to
the surroundings, mix a
drop of red
for perfection;
add a
smile
and that's all you
need to
paint like photos,
my perception.

the clock nears three AM,
and the "five minutes to" alert
pops up,
long overdue,
uh oh,
a task in need of completion,
a guilty conscience,
a simple love poem
needs to be written!

more than most,
perhaps, best,
can't be sure,
but more than most
is holy satisfying
for me

more than most,
a standard met,
perhaps understated
yet, highly realistic

for is real
not
the edge that love needs
to transcend long beyond,
far after,
initial heated intimations,
the noisy, now ancient,
initiations

real,
that place where
fantasy connects
skin and hair,
bare shoulders,
that more than most,
I kiss with simple pleasure,
best described as,
sustained, sustainable,
better than
better

real,
is that not totally,
more than most?

I love you
more than most,
for to claim,
more than anyone,
who can tell?

so now
you sleep,
your blonde tresses messes
my damp pillow,
and i am satisfied,
content to claim,
that to love you more,
more than most,
is ample, profound,
real,
and by that,
indeed,
for that alone,
is excellence unsurpassed,
a measurable measure,
that satisfies my task
well

now can rightfully
deactivate that alert,
that "to do,"
done,
unto and until
some sleepless night,
when again,
it self-actualizes,
self-activates

while smiling down upon you,
more than most,
certain,
almost positive,
but never sure,
come morn,
that you will love,

this poem,
*more than most...