I came to you last night, climbed in through your window with the last of the summer breeze. You sat on the floor, so small in your sorrow while you held the world in your shaking palm, the pressure of it's screaming too much for your tender heart.
I came to you last night and my heart swelled with love as I watched your tears glisten, their salt on my lips as I kissed your tired skin. I will hold you for a lifetime, tightly against my beating heart, so that you may hear the love I have for you as it thunders through my very being, strong and true against your darkest tide.
I am love, I am comfort, I am strength.
I am yours. Take my light, my song, my heart, let them lift you from the swirling depths, let them anchor your soul to mine that you may always have a home.
Once you lifted my heart to the heavens with a single word and within that moment I knew that we were two halves of a broken whole, though our pieces are scattered and torn we are bound, our destinies colliding within the storm that is our existence.
I came to you last night, no harm shall enter in my wake, no sorrow will linger, only my unending joy at your smile as you whisper "hello".

I cannot help how I feel...*
Yes, you can.

That's why they're called
Your feelings.

Trust me, I know it's not
Easy to tell your heart

Who's boss. Like all other
Things, it takes practice.

Practice, will and dicipline.
Growth; the most human of

Human movements; always
Being between.

Let your heart cry. Cry itself
Dry, then beat on.

Lighter. Stronger. Grown.
I'll never touch your face

Again, I sigh to a photo. Then
Burn it. This is dawn;

Nothing to see in the
Dark night now behind.

There will be other faces.
These are my hands.

He is confused by
both dusk and dawn.

He considers both to be
another variation of night.

the boys of summer were vast and many
they were long distance and down the road
they were temporary as they always are
but permanent in their scars
the one on my leg and the ones in my heart
none were deep just little scrapes
barely drawing blood
the boys of summer don’t bring pain
just stinging when they’re gone

stoic, solid
stolid and bolder
made colder the soldier-
death's hand on his shoulder
and eyes the color
of green flies.

r ~ 8/19/14

Jetting away to your far away home
I'm left with your fragrance and image alone,
To sit on the chair with a scotch in my hand
Miserably aware that I can't understand,
Why you left, why you cried,why you sped for the door
Leaving pungency there in the sheets on the floor.

The aching emptiness, hollow inside
The confusion and rawness of pain, I confide,
That I'm lost. Tomorrow is pointlessly there
When I wake up to find that your gone in despair.
Just yesterday, we lay spent on the bed
Entwined and sated, so seemingly dead,
And now the ghost of passion's done
When then, we were so wetly one.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
26 October 2009