It's your birthday and I wanted to send you flowers.
But I didn't want to intrude on your little patch of glory.

I write poetry
for eveything else
has failed

My life has no bottom
It's Hell down inside
my well

Do not feel like you are
sorry
Do not feel at all

Go write some kind of
poetry
It's better than digging wells

I saw the moon tonight
round, full and bright
it reigns over the darkness of skies
down to my almost teary eyes

The moon followed me home and
I imagined it was you then
it made me smile
If it's with you, I want another mile

Tonight, it is so sad and cold outside
I nevermind, I would beg the heavens all night
tell the moon to embrace you for me
If by chance that you looked up too and see

There I was, I stole the moon and wore it
distant, but every night when I miss you
I'll shine to you, and tell the stars to do it too
Darkness can no longer hide you away from me.

If time heals all wounds,
why does each day without you
hurt worse than the last?

There’s a moving portrait above my sink,
her cheeks are pudgy,
her skin is pink.

Her eyes are melting,
teeth fallen out,
her noose is bleeding
a river of doubt.

The portrait screams,
she cries for aid,
she tells a dead god,
that he could have stayed.

No oil,
no paint,
no canvas,
not a brush;
Instead this portrait feels and aches,
her rawness still to gush.

Yet dusk is dusk,
and by dawn it is dawn.
You may look for such a portrait,
to find that it is gone.

Not a finger nail in sight,
not a single clogged hair.
It begs but one question:
Was she ever really there?

My mom wails that
I’m a mess.
That I need to get my life together.

I’m tempted to grab a mirror,
Put it up against my face
and say:

“Stop yelling at your reflection.
Do you ever think
to decorate this mirror in flowers
or to give it endless kisses
until it kisses you back?”

Loud noises filled with poison
will never love you back.

She keeps her feelings tucked away,
Like her hair, behind her ear, before a kiss,
It sometimes comes undone, but it only makes her more beautiful,
As if such a thing was even possible .
Nothing is more reassuring than her presence,
Nothing more rewarding than her smile,
She smells like the earth after rain,
Ironic, her eyes gleam like lightning in a quiet storm.
She is all that is good in this world,
She soothes your soul with just one word,
Like a cool autumn breeze she relaxes you,
Her hugs, the definition of kindness, the embrace of an angel.
Her raven color hair absorbs all light,
That then shines from her heart,
She lives within your dreams,
Because that’s the only place you’re not alone.

my love
thy hair is one kingdom
  the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
  filled with sleeping birds
thy ******* are swarms of white bees
  upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
  of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
thy head is a casket
  of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
  innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
  with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
  in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
  which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
  of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

  thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense