I have never known of a man who loves a woman first.
Men have lusted after women first. They have been infatuated with the idealized objectification of a particular woman. They have even felt compassion and empathy towards a woman first.
But never have I known a man to love a woman first.
It is always the woman who shares her truest and purest, first and foremost. The man always follows a woman in the surrender to love, and never a moment sooner.

We lost,
We lost sons,
We lost land, time and destinies,
We walked away from a fight,
In another life, it would be fair,
Fortunes would live inside dreams, inside blood, inside reason,
Trees hugged the concrete,
Heavy oaths,
Leave them behind,
We are in a life,
We are without soul,
We are perfection,
No longer real,
A river, an ocean, an incognito body of water,
A step,
A ticket,
A son,
I forget,
Something fair,
I choose fair,
The impasse of the skin,
The killer of eyes,
I remember,
I am a dancer of treasures,
I am a dancer of pride,
I steal souls,
I steal minds,
Not like mine,
Not like my voice,
We were high,
We are above, 

Through and transfixed,
We died,
Our sons died, 
Our sons burn,
Our sons, the withered.

The red corners of his eyes,
The callus tips of his skin,
The man must move,
Must work,
Must ****,
The man of ages,
The man for days,
Must suffer,
Must persist,
The glass covered bones,
The iron clad flesh,
The windows,
The lights,
The man must destroy,
The man must conquer,
The man above you,
Is the man around you,
The man must carry on.

The space she took in your bed, on your shelves, in the curses and the vows,
She hasn't been here, nor was she ever moving towards that direction,
You imagine the door she could walk through, the locks she wouldn't open,
The glances she wouldn't care to return, the loose garments that cover chapters she patiently learned,
She spoke of home and heavy promises,
But never to you,
She grows, filling the last pages of her people's books,
You paint her, you picture her,
She isn't clear but she is unforgettable,
You believe completely in her vision,
She knows things about you, about your death and about her desire to be your death,
You wait for her peace to bring you yours,
For the stillness of her mind to free yours,
Something isn't right with her, she isn't predetermined,
She isn't wind nor water nor an element of the changing sort,
Still, she isn't predetermined,
There isn't a thing on the planets nor skies that moves like her,
That dances with your art's rhythm like she does,
She flows with you, away from you,
Remember when she melted the black and red of you canvas,
She found love in your lines and detested the corners of the devilish margins,
She learned your craft from you and she mastered its perfect flaws,
Blame the times words weren't spoken,
Blame the splendor splatter of skin, the patterns of resistance,
Why won't she dance for you, flow towards you?
Was it the thought she overheard?
You couldn't tell if she was drawn or carved or weaved,
Did she step into your box?
Hollow out your venal lust,
You chase after the scents, the shadows, the colors,
You make out what her soul must look like,
She isn't sane, she isn't clever,
She is a fallacy, a fake,
She can't not see when her long verses cover your floors,
She can't not feel when she bends and twists to the indentations of your palms,
You touch the places she left for the stars to find,
You answer questions her path left discarded,
You believe, you know,
She refuses to linger around you, and why should she?
Your strung out desires are romanticize by your brush strokes,
But your flesh demonizes passion itself,
Your reality kills your art, and she loves only your art.

Earth & metal, melting under the obsession of being,
Dissolving death & consequence, mirroring my green,
Like rage & despair, they settle for the walls of my veins,
Tainting my blood & caging me inside my bones,
Eyes & children lost their humor,
Pain amplified, bruised tears,
Compact surrender,
Love for this poison, the potential of relief & revenge,
The shaken & the colored,
Calmed spirits, not in areas of the unclear,
Content minds, never leaving their place,
Scattered brains, shot down,
You & your others, the nation of blood & killings,
The white roses, you’ve slapped ebony red.

Have you seen beauty?
I ask you,
I plead this unseen eye of the beholder,
Show me beauty
Tell me of passion,
Paint it across my windows,
Paint my bones into beautiful,
Mold an angel out of ash and soul,
That is who I am really,
Ash and soul,
Have you seen beauty?
It is, It is, It is
It is the death of your mother,
The loss of your assets,
The hunger of your mind,
The convolutions of your gut,
The impairment of sight,
The ignornance of rythm,
Bury beauty,
Bury conception,
Bury gifts and wounds,
Bury reminders, memos, alarms, missedcalls
Burn a planet,
Take its kind lovers and send them to a white light,
a blue earth,
an earth ripe,
Have you seen beauty?
I ask you beacuse I have,
With eyes shut and heart open,
In you,
Molded, kind angels of ash and soul.

You walk the halls of the universe, wander galaxies far,
Where death doesn't happen and past, future, myth and fate intertwine on sheets of light and covers of darkness,
But you walk the halls of a deviant mind, dead for ages now,
And the pulse in your wrist is a hollow drum's thud, where nothing but a false living keeps you from a hereafter,
You aren't the one nor only, nor are you the last,
I've been wondering about your wicked dreams and when would you see that my walls protect the dead,
I've wondered if you ever held a gun to your head but your visions of seconds after paralyzed the trigger,
Have you seen it all? Do you know it all? Is this it all?
Do your shadows hide your empty eyes?
Does the music in your head repeat the words "What else"?
How many undone thoughts and broken limbs?
Are you sorry you never came back when your body stays?
That your feet refuse to move from a place that isn't yours anymore,
That you never got back your soul that went with its own winds,
The ineluctable pause when people realize it's a game not a life,
The parenthesis that cage your anger but leave a new line for the inevitable despair,
The slow breathing of an unexcitable, uninspired person,
A dead one.