Love not the empress curve of your cheek,
The many-storied, empty ziggurat of belief,
The man-handled, baked brick built so high,
Your grotty thighs are pasted with all your lovers,
Your lacquered heart is glazed by luminous grief,
Head-bearer of broken vases as your crown,
Filled with dry dust from liquid stars.

A knife cuts clean the jugular of Greece,
Sun-shattered Autumn spurts in breezes,
Her face falls like crumpled sails of the trireme
~This is the sound of sinking clouds, mammatus~
The slow tottering head sinks into itself,
The arm of once-command lies lengthwise
Next to the sea, as waves erase all her form,
And the drear and maddened moon in its cage of stars.

When you touch my skin
I feel it so deeply
That the salt in my oceans
Separate from the water

~
Storms make grey the sea
And erode the surface of the shore

Cold resentful icebergs
Outside my window
A field of sinking liquid caskets
Closing in on me

I hear the sound
Of toy pianos underwater
Remnants of their music keep
Washing up on achromatic beaches

Songs that made love shine
Have fallen into shipwreck
A missing charter's rusted hull
Casts the one color heaven allows

Storms make grey the sea
And erode the stages of the sun
~

All your tears are fresh in my mind
Yet, I wait for every clear morning
Wrestling the desolate storm without hope
Hearing closely for sight of some longing

I remember when we watched the rain
A rogue wind hit us and we were the same
But every rush of the waves drew us further apart
We tried to justify the isolation because help never came

What can signal some change of heart
The sun and Earth are quite estranged
We are birds of the sky worn by the gusts
We're enduring the storm's eye in August

It's October, I listen to the beat of the heart
We have seen worse times in the past
Moving ahead from our last, first to last
To start a fire, you have to light a spark

An onion can grow from a seed,
            From a tiny place and start its  life  
                                                   from the beginning,
                                                      ­                         to its end.

Or an onion  can grow from a broken piece of itself.  
           If it’s tended to carefully
                                and the conditions are favourable.
                                                                ­          And go on again

  To begin again.