She was a dancer
And I a writer  
Born of the same day
But different hours
Barely friends
But almost lovers
Destined to be connected
But never together
For I am winter
And she is summer

Stain my naked body
With your blood,  clear.
It a not the first time I've absorbed your foreign nature,
I've been doing it for years
Through your body,  
Through your mouth
dripping with the liquid sensation of your lonely soul, grinding away the essence of physical feeling with physical feeling, hot, your hollowed out, it's purposefully misunderstood by you
But not by me.
I see inside your holes, I've always been able to,
And now, finally, your looking into mine.

XXXVIII

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its ‘Oh, list,’
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, ‘My love, my own.’

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is ******, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
      I am the captain of my soul.

I have this book that I love to carry
I take it everywhere you see
Inside there are no pictures
Only stories of you and me

It’s bound in hope and memories
But its pages give it form

See, some are tattered
Some are torn
Some have become faded
Some are worn
And some are stained

But what remained
Was a history
The day to day telling of our mystery
That took forever to figure out

But even after all this time
I know without a doubt
That this book was really based on you
And I’m glad I filled it out.

The dim morning light
Shone on her body
He admired her perfection

Her legs were thrown carelessly
Above the covers
They seemed to never end

Her hair spread about
Forming a halo of silk
Around her head

Her body leaned toward him
And seemed to sigh
In time with his bliss

Her fingers, long and thin
Were as beautiful as hands could be
And they were his

Her eyes, closed to the world
Were just as beautiful
As the soul they contained

Her arms reached to him
With her bare wrists showing
And on one was tattooed "remember"


He would never forget.