My love for you is defined by smallness.
The time before I miss you when you leave.
The space between our lips.
The connection of our hearts,
        No matter where we are.

How long before I reach out to touch you.
The space between our skin.
What we see in our future,
        Aligned to destiny.

From how we feel now to eternal bliss.
The difference in our thoughts.
Shock of coming happiness,
        Shrinks to ever present.

My love for you is infinitely close.
Together in every dimension.
Time, space and spirit.
Two souls once divided,
        Together in one heart.

To turn jealousy to lost illusion,
and make love acceptable confusion.
This is the aim of trusted devotion—
love completely in spite of emotion.

To stay warm in the shiver of despair,
and to boldly love without fear of fear.
This is a healthy heart’s true sensation—
love love when loving feels like damnation.

To find comfort in intense affliction,
and then love with both doubt and conviction.
This is the comfort of a heart that’s sure—
loving an imperfect love that is pure.

To embrace the unknown and understand,
and find in small things a love to expand.
These are ways love’s paradoxes grow—
love is loving what love can never know.

Masterpiece of curvaceous precision,
Artwork sculpted and delicately lined,
As beauty’s natural definition,
She is the mold for all womankind.

The redness of cherries based on her lips,
Honey envies the sweetness of her tongue,
Waves aspire to the curve of her hips,
She’s more seductive than any song sung.

The trees model fruit on her perfect *******,
While sunlight was made to mimic her smile,
She’s sensuality that never rests,
Longing for her dwarfs the length of the Nile.

Butterflies wings are no match for her eyes,
Her embrace is lighter than clouds above,
Her perfect beauty makes me realize,
She entered my life so I’d fall in love.

This isolated claustrophobia,
Inside, humans packed shoulder to shoulder,
In collective agoraphobia,
Neighbors bashfully quiet and colder.

This space among the masses I travel,
And thank goodness I’m surrounded by clouds.
Up here I can let my thoughts unravel,
Amidst the solitude of faceless crowds.

Above the clouds where daydreams come alive,
I have the space to write without judgment.
Towards Heaven I know my soul can survive,
Dancing in the clouds I see your movement.

Up in the air I’ve left the Earth behind,
With other aimless souls passing the time.
Seems traveling by plane is where I find
The inspiration for the perfect rhyme.

These poems come from dreams,
From places where there are no rules,
No conventions,
Where there is more rhyme than reason.

These poems come from dreams,
From random scattered images,
No connections,
Where things just allude to what’s real.

These poems come from dreams,
From a way to communicate,
No clarity,
Where feelings overtake the mind.

These poems come from dreams,
From a desperate need to be heard,
No filtering,
Where raw emotions author words.

To stir from my complacency
With the words as my compulsion,
Poems feel like a eulogy
Of my not-dead-yet emotion.

I write to be a memory
For either fondness or for ill,
With words of perpetuity
So that no reader’s heart is still.

The solemn thoughts trapped in my head,
My fingers type to let them out,
So my embarrassment is read
By strangers I know not about.

Writing with ego’s delusion
That when I die my words survive,
But my ironic conclusion
Is that I write to stay alive.

Peeling off layers of humility
To at last reveal authenticity,
To exhibit my pride most shamelessly,
I accept this vulnerability.

To be who I am confronts irony,
As still letters mask personality.
The art form I love has complicity—
The true self hides inside true poetry.

To shed this self-loathing ability,
And be honest in rhyme’s complexity,
I create pages of pure fantasy
That speak the words I feel most honestly.

Words tend to survive mortal’s history,
Past their reflection of reality,
So they seem written with mendacity,
Though lies are beyond my capacity.

Today I acknowledge futility
Of a poem that lacks identity.
This writer makes no more apology—
I am written words and the words are me.

Dear God I’m overcome.
I know no other way.
I’ve heard it works for some,
So finally I’ll pray.

No reason to rejoice;
I have so many needs.
So God, just hear my voice,
And please ignore my deeds.

I’ve never asked for much,
Or anything at all,
But my issues are such,
It’s You I need to call.

I pray for better health
(My back is always sore),
And if I had more wealth,
I’d probably pray more.

If you could help my son
To make the soccer team,
It would help him a ton
To realize his dream.

So what else should I seek?
I’ve never prayed before.
If I sincerely speak,
Then You just give me more?

To pray this easily…
I’m not sure what I mean…
Is prayer supposed to be
Like a vending machine?

God, forget what I said.
This prayer is not the best.
I need You in my head
To make any request.

I should not seek Your grant,
Without seeking Your grace.
The unrepentant can’t
Come to a holy place.

I think You’re there to find.
I feel I’m on my own.
So let me clear my mind
As I approach Your throne.

I want to try again
But this time not for me.
Your concern is for man.
Prayers not for “I” but “we.”

If You send the world peace,
Our needs are not a must.
Give our ego release,
And please just grant us trust.

You’ve seen this mortal man,
And things I never saw.
Whatever is Your plan,
I’m humble and in awe.

The act of prayer itself,
If prayer is to be true,
Will purify the self
To feel closer to You.

I don’t pray to save me.
If my sins You forgave,
Then I pray just to be
Worthy of being saved.

The finest wine to touch my lips
Was not as intoxicating,
Neither could its sweetness eclipse,
The magic that we’re creating.

The finest silk to touch my skin
Was ne’er as tender or as light,
Nor did its comfort draw me in,
As your arms do for me at night.

No melody’s been played so fine
To be the the music to my ears,
Nor notes written to such design,
The way your voice always my fears.

The world can offer jewels and gold
And endless gifts as pure as dew,
But not even wisdom of old
Is as precious to me as you.

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.

All of my life I’ve been known by my name,
And yet as I’ve grown I’ve not been the same.
Hoped my identity would be clearer,
No answer when I look in the mirror—
Who am I?

Born in a world of infinite places,
Encounters with these infinite faces,
My restless spirit seems destined to roam,
Wondering still when I think I’m at home—
Where am I?

Not accidental that I came to be,
But may have missed out on my destiny.
And though I’ve done things of which I am proud,
None of them stop me from asking out loud—
Why am I?

Each moment I age life’s completion nears,
And I regret I might run out of years.
I’m meant for something I need to make so,
But all of this time and I still don’t know—
When will I?

Raindrops on my face.
The harder it rains,
The more I erase
Why I am crying.

Raindrops hide my tears.
The harder it rains,
The less are my fears
I’m weeping in pain.

Raindrops on my face.
Each droplet obscures
A tear in its place—
Hopelessness or joy?

Raindrops hide my tears.
Each droplet obscures
Having to decide—
Why am I crying?

These precious raindrops
Leave it up to me.
The confusion stops.
They are tears of joy.

Ink wraps its arms around an idea,
Tracing letters that act as messengers
Of hope sent from some remote area,
With defiance towards its challengers.

The ink once it’s written speaks its own voice,
Like a child set free from its parent’s pen.
The pen having etched its lines made its choice
To have its intent not matter again.

Caring for all these children in my head,
They mature the moment that they are penned.
As confidently as they each have fled,
They don’t reflect on me as I intend.

Each word is a child that I have let go,
The ink no more under the pen’s control,
Out in the world seeing what I don’t know,
But into these children I wrote my soul.

When the clouds part just a sliver
And the sun is like an echo,
O’er the Earth with light to give her,
To make a ray of sunlight glow.

Angels pass upon the sunbeam,
They carry light from God above,
Our so one ray of light would seem.
With sky awash in aural love.

A point of light from overhead
Expands around us from the gray,
Like a halo upon our head
Adorning us on our dark day.

To see Heaven illuminate,
When all the light has been obscured,
Reminds us that it’s not too late.
The world is sick but can be cured.

Last year blessed me like no other,
Though past sins need absolution,
In my hoping for another,
I offer these resolutions:
Continue to write to inspire.
Keep after curiosity.
Win Powerball and then retire.
Adore those who inspire me.
Take pride in watching my sons grow.
Love them through the mistakes they’ll make.
My books featured on a talk show.
Act with intent for Heaven’s sake.
Achieve integrity in love.
Try to see more without my eyes.
Get weight down instead of above.
Tell my faithful heart fewer lies.
Resolve traumas at years ago.
Listen more closely to God’s voice.
More west coast to avoid the snow.
Don’t waste a moment to rejoice.
So thank you for the things I’ve seen,
Keep in touch in Twenty Nineteen.

There’s a knocking that I hear each morning,
a knock both a visitor and warning,
mistakes that invite themselves to my door,
mistakes that are not welcome anymore.

It’s not fear that makes me keep them outside,
nor the fatigue of further wounded pride.
I’ve learned enough what lies beyond my door.
It’s those mistakes I don’t need anymore.

Although I still don’t live life blamelessly,
I prefer to make mistakes namelessly.
Don’t package them and send them to my door
with my name on the label anymore.

It’s not that I should err and let it slide,
but I’ll never be perfect, though I’ve tried.
I know the sin that coucheth at my door.
I don’t need to bear their mark anymore.

I sleep tonight anxious to rise,
And kiss your lips as sweet as wine,
So I awaken to surprise,
The woman lying there is mine.

My dreams no match for when I rise,
Drunk on her love like sweetest wine,
That she loves me is my surprise,
I love her and her love is mine.

The sun could someday fail to rise,
But still I would drink of her wine,
A sunless day is no surprise,
For my light is this love of mine.

Her touch is all I need to rise,
She’s rarer than the finest wine,
When our flesh meets to my surprise,
She says to me, “You, too, are mine.”

How many times can one hope to be saved,
After all the descents to the depraved?
How many times succumbed to sinful thought?
How often losing the battles he fought?

How often can he expect salvation,
When choice after choice is to damnation?
How many times can he ignore his guilt,
Atop the foundation of lies he built?

How many chances to apologize?
How much wrong can one man trivialize?
How many times can he find excuses,
For turning others to his own uses?

If he ignores needing introspection,
How can this man still expect redemption?
If one just loved him he knows that he would—
Being loved is all he needs to be good.

These scars,
Not a single one of them hurts.
Wounded,
Yes once, but the numbness reverts.

These scars,
I can touch them to remind me.
Wounded,
Yes once, but now it’s behind me.

These scars,
Disfigured skin says now I’m healed.
Wounded,
Yes once, that openness now sealed.

These scars,
Painful though what was hurt’s not there.
Wounded,
Yes once, its permanence laid bare.

How many parts? Transient…
Tearing apart? Permanent…

An angry one. Powerless…
It’s never done. Sorrowless…

The battle rages. Survival…
Till one prevails. Revival…

Is there a third? Unaware…
Has it been heard? Everywhere…

Forces at play. Unresolved…
Hear what they say. Unabsolved…

Fight for your soul. Unlivable…
Your self-control. Forgivable.

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.

She lies there staring up at me
And I wonder whether my eyes
Know how lucky they are to see
An actual blessing from God.

She lies there staring up at me
And I wonder whether my heart
Knows that it’s heartbeat is precious
Dependent on this love I feel.

She lies there staring up at me
And I wonder whether her smile
Knows how much energy it gives
And yet I cannot look away.

She lies there staring up at me
And I wonder if her body
Knows the need my body feels
To be one with hers, head to toe.

She lies there staring up at me
And I wonder whether her soul
Knows how much I’m in love with her
Just lying there, staring at me.

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.

My voice cries out from forced silence,
Thunderous volume in my ears,
Words preparing to do violence
Against my fear to face my fears.

The times I spoke I have been heard,
But poetry’s not for today.
The world needs action, not a word,
Though I’d prefer to run away.

I wish my writing would suffice
So that I never have to be.
But still, I make this sacrifice
Real life needs the real me.

O silent voice, speak through my pen!
A spirit to articulate!
You will be heard, not if but when!
O voice, it’s you I cultivate!

I hear your echo in silence,
Your voice speaks to me in quiet,
With ears that hear feelings, not words,
In a heart to amplify it.

Your clearest words were not spoken,
But they resounded in my ears,
In a heart tuned to perfect pitch
Of loving feelings that it hears.

I listen to your heart beating
To know the words you have to say,
My heart understands love language
Said from a million miles away.

In despair that causes deafness,
Hope is the comfort your voice speaks,
With ears you’ve given to my heart
Your love is what my silence seeks.

I hear your echo in silence,
Your voice speaks to me in quiet,
With ears that hear feelings, not words,
In a heart to amplify it.

Your clearest words were not spoken,
But they resounded in my ears,
In a heart tuned to perfect pitch
Of loving feelings that it hears.

I listen to your heart beating
To know the words you have to say,
My heart understands love language
Said from a million miles away.

In despair that causes deafness,
Hope is the comfort your voice speaks,
With ears you’ve given to my heart
Your love is what my silence seeks.

The finch, awaiting the morning sunrise
lifts its beak in proud anticipation.
Darkness. The sun has forgotten to rise.
The finch waits for it in desperation.

To sing, to wake the world in glory’s song!
Why night, but for the finch to greet the day?
But dawn forgot to come; something is wrong.
The finch is lost, hopefulness fades away.

The sun causes the song of spirit freed,
his morning song in praise of all beloved!
The finch had grown accustomed to this need.
He’d never had to miss being so loved.

The finch misses the only thing he knew,
yet missing dawn less than I’m missing you.

Feels like a cloud is at rest in my palm,
A softness so light I can’t understand,
Applied to skin but my soul’s healing balm,
You fix what broke me when I hold your hand.

Your fingers transmit feeling like a spell,
With energy felt deep within my skin,
Your lightness of touch makes everything well,
Held in my hand but my heart’s where it’s in.

With love and with grace you gave it to me,
To hold and caress to return your love,
In hand and in love is how we shall be,
Hold fast each dream that we ever dreamt of.

Don’t run from love against which you rebelled,
You never before let your hand be held.

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.

When I met her she was covered in scars,
How could I know how deeply she’d been cut?
I’d try to empty my own reservoirs,
To heal the wounds that she had sealed shut.

I still believe none could have given more,
But sometimes it’s not how much care but how.
And when I failed it cut me to the core.
I feel my faith in love is weaker now.

For even if I loved her perfectly,
She was beyond ability to fix.
Her safety an impossibility,
She nailed herself to every crucifix.

You’ll be the one who’s broken if you stay.
You’ll never love her brokenness away.

Countless voices singing their little hymns
converge in a glorious harmony,
sing song lyrics that celebrate my whims
perform a symphony inside of me.

My heart conducts a most enchanted choir,
of booming bass sung to uplifting heights
and tenors sweeter than King David’s lyre,
a singer for each of my heart’s delights.

The joy within erupts in songs of praise
to a life hitting every perfect note,
and hearing what my inner chorus says
in melodies from places most remote.

All the conflicting voices had been wrong
until they all declared my love in song.

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.

They were only words but they had meaning.
He met with them as an empty vessel.
Inside him, though, a way he’d been leaning,
Thoughts which he did not know how to wrestle.

They were only words but his bell was rung—
Sudden elusive feel of vibration!
Sounding a note like a string had been strung,
An echo resonant with elation!

They were only words but they made him sing,
Of pleasures hidden away for too long.
How much inspiration these words could bring!
He’d never heard his own heart write its song!

He’d been so dull with words, but below it—
The sensitivity of a poet!

No gust of hurricane or thunder clap
Can frighten me like just your single tear.
At once you cry and pain falls in my lap,
Afraid myself I can’t comfort your fear.

I have so many words but none will do.
Each tear you cry causes two of my own.
I would give everything I have to you,
Afraid you’d still feel in my arms, alone.

Of all the things in life I’m mindful of,
Each moment I’m alive I want to try
Reminding you you’ll always have my love,
So that you never ever have to cry.

If I fail and today brings you sorrow,
I’ll stay close to dry your tears tomorrow.

My heart frozen by icy rejection,
Not able to escape this shiv’ring chill,
Never felt the warmth of love’s selection,
Always feeling cold and alone and still.

My soul was frigid from not feeling love,
Frost bitten fingers from no one to touch,
Hopeless that someone fit me like a glove,
Yearning extinguished from burning too much.

Loneliness trapped me like a sheet of ice,
From which I would look out and curse the sun.
Love when love was not returned was my vice,
Prayed to be melted and you were the one.

So you poured out your love and I drank it,
Your love wrapped me in warmth like a blanket.

I thought that I had will until she smiled.
I always learned to act after I think.
But she empowered what I so reviled,
She’s my enchantment; she’s my weakest link.

I thought my nimble mind made me immune.
I planned to love along the way I think.
Rapacious needs of her my siren tune,
She’s my enchantment; she’s my weakest link.

My character would bear the love I bore.
I’d heed the warnings that my mind would think.
The hope to earn her love I couldn’t ignore.
She’s my enchantment; she’s my weakest link.

I’ll not again be as strong as I think.
Her undelivered love my weakest link.

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 draws attention with spellbinding dance,
No man has ever looked and looked away.
So much mistaken beauty for romance,
Those men who see with just their eyes, her prey.

Her body is the uniform she wears,
Nubile and innocent in father’s eyes.
Enchanting beauty fueled by endless stares,
Of men who see with blindness idolize.

She’s only all the beauty, nothing more,
And nothing else she ever wants to be.
The promise of a Siren on the shore,
Exposed to every ****** on the sea.

She’ll never lack for men she can control…
Just not men who see Beauty with their soul.

Her fine black hair like sculpted ebony
frames eyes like autumn leaves so deep and green.
Her face’s shape was made to smile at me,
Her lashes flutter and I know I’m seen.

Her nose sculpted to nestle against mine
with lips fully colored as ripened fruit.
She tilts her head to expose her neck line,
she’s elegant perfection, absolute.

Her shoulders give way to arms long and strong,
yet soft with tenderness of her embrace.
She draws me closer in them while I sleep
so that I wake to her angelic face.

I see in her the word beauty defined,
as if I coined the word in my own mind.

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.

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!

Her voice lingers in the air, still and dead,
Stifling like oppressive August haze,
Stagnant musty pressure upon the head,
Like humid air that hasn’t moved for days.

Her voice lingers, her words stuck to my skin,
Putrid filth I can never wash away,
As unforgiving as a mortal sin,
I can’t be cleansed of what she had to say.

Her voice lingers, her “no” rings in my ears,
A branding iron of shame on display,
Her answer to my love will last for years,
Words I did not deserve to hear her say.

Her voice lingers, its echo like a pall,
Her voice lingers, “I don’t love you at all.”

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.

No need to retreat from smiling faces,
Or to find refuge from warmth of the sun.
The world comes replete with peaceful places,
Your only job is to discover one.

No need to deny moments of laughter,
Or rely on sadness to make you feel.
The world holds all the promise you’re after,
Your only job is to see that it’s real.

No need for shame when you feel elation,
Or feeling that fortune is undeserved.
The world has goodness as its foundation,
Your only job is to find yours reserved.

Happiness screams for you to come get it,
The world gives it to you if you let it.

She breaks her own spirit from misplaced shame,
Afraid the world will know how she’s failing,
She never looks past the mirror for blame,
But wears a smile to hide that she’s ailing.

She guilts herself into constant giving,
But knows she needs to be taken care of,
Yet of that need she is unforgiving,
And of the fact that she’s not yet in love.

She’s constantly spinning out of control,
While frustrated she feels constantly stuck,
Lesser folks around her seem to live whole,
But asking for help makes her terror-struck.

Friends keep saying that she deserves better,
If only her neuroses would let her.

The only thing that’s saving me right now,
From full collapse of love’s desperation,
Is when I need your touch that I know how
To call upon my imagination.

Our bodies have spent so much time away,
But love we share is close enough to touch.
That’s why I feel your presence every day.
I’ll see you if I close my eyes too much.

There’s never enough time to hold you near,
Yet imagination shall never rest.
The feeling in my soul I hold so dear,
You are inside the heart inside my chest.

The you that’s real just had to plant your seed,
So that imagination fills my need.

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.

A thousand hearts could not love her like mine.
Ten million artists fail painting her smile.
Billions of galaxies dull to her shine.
The runways of Paris envy her style.

Pursuit of her beauty drives dreamers mad.
Bees wish honey were as sweet as her lips.
Her beauty exceeds what numbers can add.
She captivates men more than an eclipse.

She makes ascetics succumb to desire.
The blind cannot look away from her face.
Lust for her hotter than infernal fire.
Infinite angels less than her grace.

She’s beyond anything under the sun.
She’s more than everything and only one.

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.