Love is never an accident.
Whether it be love at first sight,
Or whether it’s cause to lament.
If you fall in love it was right.

Each time we love we were meant to.
Whether it comes after a chase,
Or regret of the depths sent to.
To feel love is an act of grace.

The feeling of love never lies.
Whether you love somebody wrong,
Or someone you idealize.
Love and truth together belong.

Love is never an accident.
Whether it makes you feel guilty,
It’s always a gift Heaven sent.
Love is absolute purity.

Loves sees the bands, colors of a rainbow,
And in their perfect stratification,
Begs to see more, what else there is to know
Between colors’ identification?

Loves sees the spectrum, red to purple hues,
Where seven colors, beautiful enough
Disguise preciousness hid within their views,
Vibrant colors the peak, love sees the trough.

Love sees beyond the discrete colored bands,
To join red and orange, yellow and green,
Blue intertwined to violet like held hands,
Love asks what magic is there in between?

Love sees rainbows, but is not satisfied,
That line between colors intervening,
Spanning the sky, but look deeper inside,
Love asks to see beauty’s inner meaning.

I thought I had dreamt of perfect beauty,
Of something so perfect
It could only exist
Hidden in the dream realm
Behind my closed eyelids.

I had never seen such beauty for real,
Enchantment so perfect
It could never exist
Outside of the dream realm
Before open eyelids.

But you, who is so real with such beauty,
You are real and perfect
As I breathe you exist
I never knew this realm
Beyond my own eyelids.

Your beauty is to encounter Heaven,
Angelic and perfect
I can barely exist
Here in your gaze’s realm
Lost beneath your eyelids.

Thank you for the surprise of your beauty.
Dreams were not as perfect
There you did not exist
Somehow here is your realm
To open my eyelids.

I wish that all mirrors could be windows,
Having had quite enough introspection.
I want to live in the world the world knows,
The world that is more than my reflection.

Trapped behind walls seeing nothing but me,
These mirrors have cost me my perspective.
If I’m all there is, who am I to be?
Solipsism is no man’s objective.

I peer through the glass right back into my face.
I don’t even know if I’m seen behind.
Windows are mirrors to the human race,
But the reflection in mine makes me blind.

I wish that all mirrors could be windows,
But scared the world won’t like what I expose.

Quivering, my hands try to hold
the thing most beyond man’s control.
My bloodshot eyes cannot behold
the weariness I can’t console.

My achy bones refuse to move
to encounter the vague unseen,
to meet what latent dreams disprove
in the fog of the in between.

I’ve not adjusted to the light.
I tried but my eyes weren’t prepared.
I want the end to be in sight—
the insight of which I am scared.

When will at last I be awake?
Is this the day I understand?
I stumble out into daybreak
to hold the future in my hand.

He’s named his empty heart “Regret.”
Each beat something that should have been.
Awake and full of life, and yet…
Wholeness of loss has filled it in.

He’s named his history “Regret.”
No day revives what should have been.
New mornings always come, and yet…
He’ll never live that love again.

He’s named forsaken dreams “Regret.”
There’s real and there’s what should have been.
Nightmares when he’s awake, and yet…
His dream come true’s a dream again.

He’s named his broken self “Regret.”
A man whose life is should have been.
Her love would be enough, and yet…
He’s scared her love won’t take him in.

I can’t stop thinking of lips,
Glossy, pouty and luscious,
A tongue that twirls, darts and dips,
Sensing a sense so precious.

No feeling exceeds kissing,
More than any sense of touch,
If lips on mine went missing,
I’d miss nothing else so much.

Dreaming of red lips on mine,
With a tickling tongue atrill,
Feather soft tongue’s tip so fine,
I cannot hold my heart still.

Use a tongue to enter me,
Grab my face to *******,
Taste as sweet as sweet can be,
Kissing’s where my love comes from.

Your love is like the horizon,
perceived no matter where I stand,
unclear which world that it lies in,
in and beyond my outstretched hand.

Your love is like that distant line
where heaven meets the earthly plane,
the beginning of my sunshine
that bounds a limitless domain.

Your love is like the horizon,
connected wherever I go,
comfort I idealize in,
the only constant that I know.

Your love is like that distant line
that never will recede from view.
Surrounding me and only mine,
I’m there in the center of you.

Your kisses are like colors to the blind,
Your touch like an aria for the mute,
As elusive as passion to the mind,
As beyond the grasp as an absolute.

Your kisses like a full moon in the day,
Your touch is like a rainbow’s harmony,
Like language that the angels use to pray,
Or the dreams that wide open eyes can see.

Your kisses are like clouds held in a palm,
Your touch like a silent cacophony,
Embracing the ferociousness of calm,
Embracing the constraints of being free.

Your perfect kisses defy description.
Your touch is a sublime contradiction.

It’s taking too long to drink my coffee.
It greeted me with a piping hot smile
That relaxed me, now it’s lukewarm to me.
To bring back steam, I’ll nuke it for a while.

My eyes were too big for my morning roast.
It calmed so soon, I drank it too slow.
“A venti, please!” I told Starbucks to boast,
It grew cold as I got into my flow.

I’m certain this is what Starbucks intends,
A fine metaphor if ever there were.
All this caffeine on which life so depends,
An excess we all self-administer.

Tomorrow another twenty ounce cup,
Burnt mouth to more quickly go bottom’s up!

Weathered and ragged and flaking away,
Ageless, majestic, for day after day,
Haven for robins and the honeybee,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

A suit of cracked armor letting rain in,
Lifeless and cold, hardened like calloused skin,
Home and shelter where squirrels can flee,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

Vestigial barrier to bygone rings,
Same as it’s been, now for so many springs,
All that is left of its great pedigree,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

A trunk withered down and dead from inside,
That empty space, where owls now reside,
Inside those walls there’s still reason to be,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

True love seeks a silent place,
A peace of unburdened voice,
Where lovers speak face to face
Without the past’s background noise.

Experience digs a pit
Crumbling love’s foundation,
For two lovers must commit
To a brand new creation.

Lessons learned in agony
That true love should leave behind
Are the cruelest irony,
And so hard to leave behind.

No twinkling red giant star
Glistens with more red than your lips.
No verdant green of prairie grass
Can be more fertile than your hips.

The sky’s blue hues from morn to night,
Are pale against your royal soul.
The softened tan of perfect skin
Colors my heart out of control.

The yellow sun is cold and dark
When your aura is on display.
Like whitest white more blameless than
A child on his very birthday.

In you is all that can be seen,
In ways that colors only know.
Your gifts of beauty more vast than
The colors across the rainbow.

The trees have shed everything in defiance of frozen air,
Nudely and bravely they boast of their strength with a stoic’s stare.
Their leaves have deserted them, their fruit has fallen, they don’t care.
The trees in January stand strong in loneliness, and bare.

Is their naked strength in the wind how they are supposed to be?
Do they welcome autumn, to rid themselves of their greenery?
Perhaps they don’t notice that the lives they gave have set them free?
They have lost something beautiful, but are they less of a tree?

Spring water flows into their roots, branches drop their icy weight,
The first sun-kissed buds emerge to witness the tree foliate.
But does the tree even notice this, its cause to celebrate?
The tree is at its life-giving most, but it does naught but wait.

The tree changes before me, and because of it I change, too.
But in that moment, when I love that tree, it feels nothing new.
And I think back, if the moment someone loved me, if I knew?
But I am too like the tree, oblivious to what is true.

Did you know when you woke today
that I would fall in love with you?
That your eyes would be seductive
sirens attracting me to you?

When you delicately opened
your lips at dawn to breathe, did you
know that first breath would draw me in
to your heart and deep love for you?

How many times were you to smile,
not knowing how much I’d love you?
Were you truly that unaware
that pure beauty is to see you?

How many years have passed till now,
my eyes waiting to behold you?
Did you know this moment would come,
searching for beauty, I’d find you?

I’m made of dust, dried bones and incomplete,
To be cursed for want of a stolen rib,
Barely alive with the faintest heartbeat,
A grown man like an orphan in his crib.

No room for a soul in my shriveled veins,
No life support for fragile loneliness,
To acquiesce in sadness given reins,
A flawed experiment in holiness.

To be alive gives no consolation,
My helpmate has absconded with my soul,
Turning my devotion to temptation
To fill a void when I should have been whole.

This lesson has been far too hard to learn!
To God-forsaken earth let me return!

The intensity with which we shatter,
Those what’s-left-of-us shards that cut you deep,
Brokenness and jagged edges matter,
When prices paid with pieces feels too steep.

Only two things cause our own destruction—
We’re broken from without or from within.
The damage goes beyond reconstruction,
We can’t build what we built before again.

Cracked into piles of debris on the floor,
The remnants of escaped emotion’s cage,
Whose seething burn couldn’t take it anymore,
Disposing of it disrespects its rage.

We’re broken so that something is released,
Those shards remind us what we have to do.
To put them back is just what matters least,
But don’t cut yourself making something new.

There are far too many goodbyes for me,
though in its own moment, each has its place.
There’s infinite goodbye variety,
from “see you soon” to gone without a trace.

The polite wave goodbye across a crowd,
the goodbye of one fixed in distant gaze,
hopeless and anguished goodbyes cried aloud,
relieved goodbye a babysitter says.

But two goodbyes rip me apart inside—
no return or return I know not when.
Which is worse I had hoped not to decide,
until I said the worse goodbye again.

Final goodbyes to one gone forever
hurt  less than “goodbye, love, till whenever.”

Love.
Love is.
Evermore.
Love is always.
Undeniably,
Indefatigably,
Indescribably,
Insatiably,
For­ever.
Always.
Is.

Love.
Love lasts.
Tirelessly.
Love is always.
Unconquerably,
Indeterminately,
Imperviously,
Inscrutably­,
Immortal.
Always.
Lasts.

Love.
Love lives.
Timelessly.
Love is always.
Interminably,
Interconnectedly,
Independently,
Incredibly­,
Infinite.
Always.
Lives.

A day in love is like a thousand years,
With a heart beating but time moves no more.
I know the timelessness of loving you,
Is God-like as in Psalms ninety verse four.

To be in love with you gives me my soul,
Your love is the breath of life from Heaven.
The love my lungs breathe is like the spirit
God breathed in Genesis two verse seven.

Your love shows me mercy, grace, good and truth,
Patience, forgiveness and absence of hate.
It awes me like when God showed Himself in
Exodus thirty-four seven and eight.

The more I love you the simpler it gets,
It’s something I just naturally do.
Love’s forever inscribed in my heart like
Jeremiah thirty-one thirty-two.

In your coming and your going,
Feel the love my soul is knowing,
The gentle zephyr through your hair,
Should remind you my love is there.

In your pictures or in the flesh,
Each time my love wakens afresh,
Incomparable imagery,
Arouses love inside of me.

In whispers or your written word,
I dream that mine’s the voice you heard,
You’re nothing short of living art,
Writing your poems on my heart.

In fantasy or in my bed,
“I love you” shall not be unsaid,
You may well be a dream unreal,
But truth is in the love I feel.

The sunrise was a shadow’s shine,
The birds sung their songs out of tune,
The rooster crowed silent alarm,
As if each day began at noon.

The dew was dried before it formed,
The moonlight never left the sky,
The pre-dawn dreams never took hold,
The darkness never said goodbye.

The bedroom shades were never raised,
The morning haze was ever still,
The alarm clock did its mime act,
The morning’s sunlight brought a chill.

It seems the Earth forgot to turn,
There was no morning to wake to,
Looking back this is how it was,
Before I woke up next to you.

She sat beside herself and asked,
“Do you know where this feeling’s from?”
Her self stared back at her, unmasked,
And wondered who she had become.

Who but herself could ever know,
These things she thought that she once knew?
“I barely know you now, and so,
When was the last time you were you?”

The two of them, just her and her,
Each tried her best to understand.
Her self said, “Why are you so sure
You’re not exactly who you planned?”

“I wanted to be you instead,
Before you filled me with regret.”
Her wounded self smiled back and said,
“Perhaps you haven’t been you yet.”

Between intention and action,
That gap is filled with processes.
Mental. Emotional. Unknown.
What penetrates those recesses?

Between intention and action,
What moves across that connection?
Feeling. Need. Pain. Inertia. Fear.
What motivates that direction?

Between intention and action,
There is the indispensable.
Devotion. Love. Strength. Soulfulness.
Are our lives comprehensible?

Between intention and action,
Do we call on our sense of awe?
Pathos. Concentration. Wonder.
That’s where we enter kavanah.

She is in my breath of words so often
That just to speak is to feel kissed by her,
To have my discontented voice soften,
As the gentle kiss of a whisperer.

She so inhabits each letter I write,
That I dwell in them as they are spoken,
So each poem is her inhaled delight,
Said aloud is her kiss for the broken.

The poems from her spirit emanate,
My pen is the instrument of her heart,
Each word is a moment to osculate,
Breathing in her kiss as the words depart.

I send out poetry with emphasis
On the words she breathed deep into my lungs,
Planted on my lips with her passion’s kiss,
Words she inspires play between our tongues.

Bits of me leave a trail back to heartbreak.
Shattered like a broken glass dropped from above.
No relief from my perpetual ache.
But if I get to choose I still choose love.

Lost in a place so dark no need for eyes.
Brought down so low can’t see the sky above.
Trusted my heart though all it told were lies.
But if I get to choose I still choose love.

My soul gave up and left me just a shell.
Abandoned faith and by my God above.
Each second worse than an eternal Hell.
But if I get to choose I still choose love.

Lost everything except my beating heart.
My stubbornness commanded from above.
There’s no excuse to let these feelings start.
But if I get to choose I still choose love.

I feel an ecstatic boundless delight
When you come inhabit my dreams at night
When lying in bed you hold me so tight
When closing my eyes you’re still in my sight.

I am ecstatic with your boundless grace
The fortune of having looked on your face
The blessing that I exist in your space
The music of my soul in your embrace.

Lost in ecstasy of boundless desire
Of your love from which I shall never tire
No other love will I ever require
Yours is all the love to which I aspire.

Your boundless love is boundless ecstasy
And my boundless love you shall have from me.

Never so lost,
Never less hope.
North Star was gone,
Let go my rope.

Never so dark
Never less light.
Landmarks were gone,
Left looked like right.

Never so tired,
Never less born.
Sunset was East,
And in the morn.

Never so scared,
Never less bold.
Map upside down,
My torch burned cold.

Never so sad,
Never less free.
Where’s that compass
Inside of me?

If you were feeling like it was so right,
Then you most probably ignored the wrong.
If you have never had to have a fight,
Then you kept anger in to get along.

If you have never cried like this before,
Then you had never opened up your heart.
If you think none will love you anymore,
Then you should know that now is when you start.

If you’re alone unable to explain,
Then you are stuck in someone else’s head.
If you think that despair is part of pain,
Then you should love somebody good instead.

The man you loved before was fraudulent.
A worthy man won’t hurt you with intent.

What is the best time of day to love you?
When just below the horizon
The sun’s morning light warm the dew?
When just from slumber arisen
My first thought today is of you?

When sunlight bends grass to the east
And arcs to zenith in the sky?
Mid-morning my love is not least
Growing ever higher than high.

When my shadows all disappear
With the sun direct overhead?
At the noon it’s you I revere
More than I could have ever said.

When warmed by the hours of light
Each moment I have loved you more.
The sun recedes into the night
And I love you more than before.

When light of the night are my dreams,
Still loving a love that is real.
I can love you more now it seems,
And wake to recall how I feel.

When is the best time of day to love you?
No time is better than the rest.
I love you no matter the time.
For no time is better than best,
True love is a love too sublime.

Dear sunrise, don’t fail to wake me.
Dear soul, don’t let Heaven take me.
I cannot miss this chance to rise,
To see the sparkle in your eyes.

Dear dreams, don’t preoccupy me.
Dear slumber, don’t lullaby me.
I cannot face this daily trial,
Without the beauty in your smile.

Dear eyesight, don’t fail to return.
Dear nightmares, don’t be my concern.
I cannot feel the Earth’s pleasance,
Without starting in your presence.

Dear morning, don’t fail to arrive.
Dear God, don’t forget I’m alive.
I cannot face this day anew,
Without a day that faces you.

No time or space for any other thought,
My heart preoccupied with love for you,
I draw upon those lessons I’ve been taught,
To no avail because this love is new.

I failed each time love was an obsession,
When dreams made me sleepwalk throughout the day,
When hope was my substitute possession.
Shall this love come to pass another way?

What ideas have I missed since we met?
What sights unseen since I first laid my eyes?
I shall not love a little less, and yet,
Each time I love with all my heart it dies.

To love you with more than I have’s a must,
To you this weary heart I shall entrust.

As my heart grew more enamored,
And as I felt this burning flame,
It was then I knew what mattered—
It was to give Beauty its name.

Her image would not go away,
But all the words I spoke would err,
So overcome I could not say
A description that suited her.

What should perfect Beauty be called?
There is no name that could suffice.
Overwhelmed I was too enthralled—
My language was too imprecise.

You simply are so beautiful,
That any name would be inapt.
Your Beauty makes my heart so full—
That I am speechlessly enrapt.

From what did God make angel’s wings?
Or melodies that birdies sing?
Did He put stars in Heaven’s sky?
Why create man to ask Him why?
How has He no end and no start,
And yet still fit within our heart?
He made me be but why make me?
Why did He make one plus two three?
No one can understand God’s plan,
Or why He has concern for man.
So while it might make sense above,
I simply can’t explain our love.

You come to me like a wave soon to crest.
I wait with open arms upon the shore.
The distant ocean smooth like glass at rest,
Belies the energy it has in store.

The distant plane of water so serene,
That ripples faintly as it nears the beach.
Our love is fury like a wave unseen,
Its strength in evidence when within reach.

From far away you now are in my sight.
Inside me my emotions hit their peak,
Like the ferocious waves of frothy white.
Our love was never calm, was never weak.

The waves derive their power from below,
Beneath the calm your love is all I know.

To the prophet,
the passivity of consciousness is exhausting.

The veil,
the biases,
understanding which is only seen with human eyes.

That is consciousness.

Consciousness obscures, because it is human.

The prophet sleeps, exhausted from listening but not hearing.

The prophet needs the soul to be active.
The activity of detachment.
God has a voice, not to be heard by consciousness.
Consciousness is to be human—
what the human sees,
what the human understands,
what happens when the human is aware,
the veil of consciousness that is the passivity of silence,
which the prophet must put away to hear.

The prophet seeks the purity of Creation,
to feel the moments
before the mist outside the garden descended to reveal nakedness.
The prophet needs to unknow what living has made the prophet acquire.

The prophet sleeps to strip away anything that is not Love.
To exist in ultimate vulnerability, unprotected in body and mind.
What remains when the prophet sleeps?

There God inhabits the prophet’s dreams.
Revealed by the unconscious.
Symbols etched in clarity,
dreams are not a cipher.
Asleep, unburdened, actively unconscious, what is left?
The prophet sleeps, and the world vanishes.
What happens to all the prophet loves when the prophet’s eyes are closed?

Those things are gone,
but Love remains.
Pure.
Love for what consciousness obscures.
The prophet dreams because that is where the prophet can be found
by God.
Loving God
and knowing God.

To the prophet,
dreams change consciousness
because the filter of consciousness is ephemeral,
but the sleeping, dreaming prophet
attaches to the eternal.

A moment passed, as it always seems to
With guilt washing over me like the shore,
Passed without me doing what I need to,
Bound in chains of shame I failed once more.

For what was I bequeathed this gift of time
If not to use passing moments for praise?
Weary, I let passivity be my crime.
These wasted moments lead to wasted days.

The morning light is heavy with regret,
No slumber enough for this restless soul.
I laid down with my dreams serene, and yet,
Overnight my guilt turned soul black as coal.

Saying “I love you” ere I close my eyes,
Means more to me than I could realize.

She’s so real it doesn’t matter.
So real I can imagine her.
When my heart fails and eyes are weak,
She’s Monday morning to my week.

Her beauty is springtime’s envy.
Her beauty is my energy.
Awake or in my dreams I seek,
I need her smile to start my week.

I close my eyes to watch it grow,
Her beauty’s everywhere I go.
Like sunlight o’er horizon’s peak,
She is the sunshine of my week.

I see her now and evermore,
On Mondays though I need her more.
When missing her makes things look bleak,
I think of her to start my week.

These are the things I think are fun
So much so I can’t choose just one:
To hold you.
To kiss you.
Be with you.
(Not miss you!)
Laugh with you.
Walk with you.
Listen and
Talk with you.
Ride a bike.
Park a car.
Stay at home.
Travel far.
Get undressed.
Lie in bed.
Don’t wake up.
Snooze instead.
Kiss your lips.
Kiss your ear.
Kiss your neck.
(And down there!)
Foot massage.
Shop and eat.
Motel Six.
Fancy Suite.
I guess the things I like to do,
Are anything I do with you.

When the first man first achieved consciousness
So that he knew he had fallen asleep,
How can you imagine his nervousness
That he had died and gone into the deep?

Or the first time thunder roared overhead,
Having never seen lightning in the sky?
Primitive man must have thought he was dead,
Or in the moments to come he would die.

Before there were mirrors or reflection,
Could man know that he had a human face?
For without any form of inspection,
He’d have thought himself alone in his place.

I feel like I know only a bit more,
But I only know what’s already here.
What’s coming has never happened before,
It’s arrival will stun me into fear.

I’m aware of my awareness of you,
Of my absorbing everything you do,
And wonder if you are aware of me.
But you are not real, so how could you be?

I’m loving the feeling of loving you,
Of investing my heart in all you do,
And hoping inside that you’re loving me.
But you hide your heart, so how could you be?

I’m aroused by my arousal from you,
Of the lust I feel watching all you do,
And aching for you to make love to me.
But I am nothing, so how could you be?

I’m needing those needs I have for you,
Of needing to live in the world you do,
And needing to dream you also need me.
But you’re just my dream, so how could it be?

She’s a figment for vulnerable men
Who see beauty through self-loathing windows.
Her beauty is far too much to take when
It pierces the heart where passion’s sin goes.

Ashamedly smitten men curse their eyes
For beholding beauty they don’t deserve.
They seek her attention, she ignores their cries.
They grovel on their hands and knees to serve.

Her nakedness sows men’s basest skin’s need,
For intimate contact with lurid thought.
She is the temptress, they’ll follow her lead,
Through gates of despair their lustfulness brought.

She strikes men dumb just because she is there.
They have nothing real and pure to compare.

You’re Not The One I Dreamt Of

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
The secretly sinister
Mysterious character
Who was laughing at my love.

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
Your face was so different,
Pretentious while diffident,
Toying with falling in love.

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
Inviting my hidden needs
Promising the basest deeds
Manipulating my love.

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
With the lips of a temptress
And eyes of a seductress
Who live in dreams not in love.

Every feeling drawn from so much depth,
That I have to learn to embrace the deep,
The blackness of the pit with no echo,
The unreachable place from which they creep.

I’ve not been privileged to love shallowly,
Nor unrequited love not quench my soul,
Nor experience of fleeting sadness,
But to love my dark and bottomless hole.

Shall I be better off without darkness?
Feeling love as strong as jealous anguish?
Shall I pray to never feel crushing hurt?
So loving shall be an incomplete wish?

How often rejection brought me despair!
Oh to be hopeful as my hopelessness!
The deep emptiness that ***** down my pain,
Is the same depth from which I can’t love less.

Emptiness do not fill up with healing!
That dark abyss is my space for feeling.

Today is the day.
I am a mayfly.
I have no memories of growing up,
and no expectations of growing old.
I have learned nothing.

Today is my day.
I will not sit by.
Swiftly I live, there is no slowing up,
and no time for my feelings going cold.
I will be something.

Today is the day.
I’ll reach for the sky.
Driven only by instinct flowing up,
to unknown destiny of glowing gold.
I am everything.

Today is the day.
I will live and die.
I’ll have seized the day just by showing up,
ignoring fear to live by knowing bold.
I won’t be nothing.

Each facet, a surface so resplendent,
Till ground away with endless polishing
To find innate sparkle magnificent,
O’er timeless glow that we’ve been cherishing.

O the eons spent on its perfection,
Dulled easily without the jeweler’s lens.
What gain had from chiseled vivisection?
To scratch the surface with corrosive cleanse?

What value is in diamond edges smooth,
Where lines mark surfaces with precision?
Is natural shine too luminous to soothe,
So we treat works of time with derision?

Hardened we underestimate its glow,
Its care requires the finest instrument.
The process used to make it shine was slow,
But dulls with the pressure of improvement.

Calming with the softness of your skin,
Sated of my hunger for your kiss,
Nourished by the state you put me in,
Feeding this soul’s appetite for bliss.

Craving delicacies of your eyes,
Sensing sunrise warmth of your embrace,
Mornings such as this I energize
With anticipation of your face.

Awake to the honey of your tongue
And fluttering eyelash on my cheek,
You’re the morning hope of day still young,
You provide for me the love I seek.

Impervious.
The defense of age.
Our hearts become small.
We’re loathe to engage.
We put up a wall.

Impervious.
In an armored suit.
Seeking protection.
To be resolute.
Avoid connection.

Impervious.
To one more heartbreak.
We like to think so.
But that’s our mistake.
Our hurt makes us grow.

Impervious.
I have tried to be.
It was just pretense.
For your love found me.
It pierced my defense.

Impervious.
Was never a thing.
I was closed off to
Almost everything—
Everything but you.

Searching with a ravenous smile
Beyond depravity to find
Lustful home in a woman with
Pinup soul and centerfold mind.

Like prowling wolf under full moon
To find in habitats untold
Attracted to a body with
A chest that shields her heart of gold.

Sensuality unrestrained
Approaches as innocent knave
Seeking that woman who has too
Naked Eros towards the brave.

Drawn out by libidinous need
That only making love can cure
His darkness only wants her light
Everything about her is pure.