After the night sounds
  die away

After the owl flies,
   the day

After the lovers'
   moonlit feast,

After the beauty,
     the beast.

don't
     say

    the words.

        don't.


   just go.

            I can handle

                my own

     annihilation.

Nearing the shoal
in my brittle craft,

I notice a hole,
   Near the waterline, aft.

I continue rowing,
  as the rocks get nearer.

I feel the current flowing.
  It's all becoming clearer.

Life is an ebb and flow.
  Our vessel is adrift.

South winds come and go.
  Our positions shift.

on the afternoon of first love
when the air was like Oahu
      and the sky was a pastel pool
  you and i on our sun-drenched Gauguin day
           lay on the sand like shining gold shells.

                          the breeze blew over us
                                    like music,
                             warming our humming core
                            like the hot breath of Aphrodite.

Our four sable eyes, fat with sleep,
from vivid dreams that made them weep,
       slowly rose to life newborn
   to a silent summer morn.

Our four arms stirred from the core,
   like driftwood on the shore.

The night had slumped away.
It's black, foreboding form of play
   had left us drawn-
   slack, and unprepared for dawn.

But there was life yet in our bones.
    Hope.  Desire.  Will.

We had not yet died,
     though still.

And we had not yet
given Death our parts,
  to work with
    in his rigid arts.

my world
my grief
my tribulation

your  love
   your life
  your adulation

save me

summer days.  
carousels.  
cotton candy schools.

bad kids in bathing suits
******* in the pools.

The slow pace of a warm day.
The long and peaceful yawns.
The sweet noise of kids at play.
The mowing of summer lawns.

I walked to the river and back.
   Something told me I should.  
I saw things I hadn't seen before.
   A dog.  A deer.  A stream.

I saw an old abandoned shack.
     It was made entirely of wood.
I walked to the shack and opened the door.
     And that was the start of my dream.

Things come up
   in conversations.

Things that make
   you giggle.

Things that tax
  your patience.

Things that make
   you wiggle.

Words you used
   in jest, so small,

Words can change
  to wrecking *****.

Choose your words
  with care.

Words can travel
    anywhere.

We dined in starlight
    on the dark side of the Moon;
with rich white cloths
     and fine silver spoons.

The silent ghosts
   of our former lives
danced like newborn moths
    above our knives.

And the stars wore white mink stoles.

We shivered in the air.
   It chilled our veins.
We chatted over old dreams,
   still warm in our brains.

The planets quivered
  in the arctic air of space.
I studied your smile,
   your laugh, your face.

All the ice-cold breezes
   swept away your sighs.
All the bone-chilling winds
     gave freedom to our lies.

We dined in starlight
  on the dark side of the Moon.

And the stars wore white mink stoles.