Such enigmatic eyes;
Beautiful on the horizon.
Where often rebirth lies, distal skies.

She's the slow sort of lover,
The kindle stiking the blaze.
She burns like hot coals; melding
Skin with skin like molten metals.
This wildfire will not be tamed;
Will not bend to any whim.
She grows ever stronger with
The passing summer wind.

We wear Time like the finest of silks;
She lines our bodies in wrinkles and
Folds. Fashions fade over the years,
But beauty has always been in the
Stories she tells - sketched on the
Canvas of our skin.

We all lie with smiles on our faces;
Take our time sipping wine and
Black coffee. How scalding this
Life can be, one year after another
Until it all comes back full circle.

Barren trees are beautiful before snow melts;
Clouds constantly cover sunlight somewhere
In the world. What wonder do the stars hold
Even without sight? We seal these eyes of ours,
Glazed with gluttony, so sinfully tight. Come,
Unforseen secrets dance just beyond our plight..

Some days I wither like a
Wilted rose waiting for
The wind to pick my petals,
One by one, like a morbid
Little girl -- she whistles
To the tune of "I live, I love
For naught, I live not."

Most days, I feel like
The man on the moon;
So far removed -- my
White smile set in stone.
Yet these shadows shown
Have made such beauty
Into all I have ever known.

Leaves walk as ghosts
In the paved parking lot
Of a Catholic church. The wind
weeps for these lost souls;
Whistles a melancholy tone.
The crisp crunch of bone
At my feet serve as the beat;
I wonder at what beautiful
An orange a corpse could be.