There is no word that can describe our time.
No number that could describe the amount.
No chorus that could be sung loud enough.
No verse that could capture that moment.
No chored that could be played sweet enough.

There is nothing, my dear.
There is just you and I.
Just two strangers in a different world.

Two dreamers.
Two, now, distant lovers.
Two morners.
Two more broken hearts.
Just two.

Love was never good enough for the both of us. We were greedy, we asked for more.

They say there's no such thing as loving too much.

Now look.

Today is a good day to wake up
And finally write the great essay.
Today is a good day to rise
And clean that room after
All those weeks.

Today is a great day to even
Sit down and solve that
Math problem and finally
Tame calculus.

Today looks like a good day
To read the book that
Has been sitting there,
Calling my name for a
Long time.

It seemed to be a great day
For anything. I carefully considered
all possibilities. It overwhelmed.

I started with the first plan I mentioned,
which I don’t even remember now, since
it was so long ago this morning; I hesitated
immediately, checked what time it was
And I went to sleep.

The almonds in your eyes
Warm like morning tea
lids rounding in a smile
When you look at me.

Softly words unspoken
Caught frozen on our lips
Hands open and close again
With tension in its full eclipse.

My love ascends in this way
If I had courage enough to say
From your brow and to your cheek
Would you stay? (If I could speak?)

You sweetly consume my mind
Like fog rolling through the bay
And though I've become lost within
you never fail to make my day.

But this love is a sailboat in a storm
Waves ever rolling, ever thrashing
In their dreams of something warm
Reality always comes back crashing.

I close my eyes,
and find myself gazing directly into yours.
Waves of sensation crash over the reservoir;
Coursing rapid through the rivers of my valley,
Yearning to erase the borders of your shore.
I close my eyes,
And envision your sailboat gliding effortlessly and free along my bodies of water
Rocking to and fro against pulsating waves.

I changed a few Christmas' back
From a grinch to a believer
I realized one special day
Santa Claus was not a deceiver
I was working at my job one day
Playing Santa for the staff
Confounding all the customers
And making children laugh
Not many knew that it was me
Dressed as Santa Claus that day
And it changed the way I acted
I had carte blanche to play
Wearing the suit is not a task
It's an honor to be sure
It brings out your inner Christmas
And it opens up a door
A door to something buried
Cynicism, of man's greed
Wear a Santa Suit and you
Will get all the faith you need
A child had been watching me
I'd been watching her some too
She came and said "I don't believe"
She said "It's because I am a Jew"
I must admit this startled me
So I got down on one knee
I said "You may not believe in Christmas"
"But, I'm sure you believe in me"
I gave the girl a candy cane
For, I knew she wanted that
And the suit brought out my Inner Claus
It pulled some magic from it's hat
I said "do you believe in what you see"
She said she did, I'd sealed the deal
I held my hand for her to touch
"And my hand, does it feel real?"
She smiled and she said it did
Then I laughed at her because
The look that spread across her face
said "You are, you are Santa Claus"
At this point her brother came
And said "It's just some one in a suit"
I must admit, I wanted to just
give this lad a boot
I gave the girl two candy canes
One for her and for her brother
I told her to say it's from me
When they checked out with their Mother
She hugged me, said "I know you're real"
And she gave me one hug more
And when she went to find her mum
I left through a secret door
I stood and watched the little girl
give the candy to her brother
She said it was from Santa Claus
To the consternation of her mother
He turned around to look for me
But, I was not around
I'd left you see, and was watching him
To him I'd not be found
The look I saw upon his face
When he noticed I was gone
Was confusion, for I'd not gone past
Christmas magic had been done
I wore the suit a few more times
And I must admit because
Once you wear the Santa Suit
You are always Santa Claus.

window leaning on an old book the cold winter air
spilling into the room like it has been waiting for years
for this moment, starless sky and illuminated hands
colored blotches speaking in the hushed tone of
unobtrusive shades
there is a single cigarette packed away in the stories
and trinkets, it is whispering sweet nothings
in my ear

and you
you have been lurking in the hallways
your hands, thumbprints, lips
etched into the window glass
so every time i look to see the world
you will be there

Your bittersweet presence
brushes chalk dust across my skin
because i desire you here
but i think that is all

I wear my scars on my sleeve,
far away from my heart.
I give them no introduction, and in return,
hardly anyone comments.
Once, I was told that such marks are
something to hide
with neatly pressed skirts,
long sleeves, and dim lighting.
For some time, I made an effort,
then lost the shame-filled motivation.
They are rose-pink, criss-crossing,
haphazard badges of a life
lived free of convention,
every one a road sign that tells
just how far I've come-
beautiful if solemn reminders
of a former self.
They are small, puckered triumphs,
things to admire if only for their stability:
They do not grow in number.
I love their gaping mouths,
their age and soft surrender.
Infrequently, I examine each scar
with all the care and concentration
of a cynic in wonderland.
My fingers land on them like butterflies,
any pain has long since faded.

Most women do not
cook and and clean house
in preparation
for violent invasion.
But you did,
the countertops ache for lack of dust,
the appliances self-conscious in their sterility.
More than sufficient-
for anybody but the figure on the doorstep;
who, using only a key
has already torn through
your first, only, and tastefully painted
line of defense;
has pulled pins from verbal grenades to throw upon
bursting into the kitchen,
where you waited
white tablecloth of surrender and
tea like a peace offering.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.