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for fifty days i fasted,

knowing no-thing,

save the retching of my own flesh,

save the pit of my own stomach.



for your arrival safely we sold

our cattle, fashioned a festival

our first kiss –a first sip of wine

on the day break of Pentecost,

at last my fast was over.



we fashioned circles of precious metals

and strung them around each other’s

vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum

proclaimed endurance upon the coming

event horizon of time itself.



space swells with the ancient ruins

of men and women who shed tears

tracing the constellation trails

from one end of an ocean to another

filling the void of voiceless oceans

with metaphoric rapture and appetite

for adventure.



Charles, the smell of desert sand swims

firmly between your pores,

your body warm as the land

cut like mountains

between your biceps

where my head lays

basking in the moments

you are here.



how i adore you so.



proclaim eternity

enter matrimony – eyes wide open

place his heart upon a pedestal

let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle

****** his woefully mortal heart.



roots and petals of calendula

poultice to quell the spasms

you take me in my blood

and i take you in my arms

when the nightmares hurt

worse than the back pain.



you remind me that even in the winter

the carmine-colored cardinal coos

and whistles, awakens the trees and fills

the cold world with sweet song.



i’m unraveled in your high collar,

blue and burned in a freak fire,

raptured by the desert

nothing is forever, we know,

yet everything is possible.



there is no going back.



on this river of time

except maybe we’ll escape

the event horizon burn

as radiation about

the black hole’s radio halo.



dying light is a subjective notion

when you limit every poetic persuasion

to the limits of the human eye.



we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade

into spacetime tapestry,

devote each second

as the present is our own reward

the art of being in love,

the pleasure of being alive.



the future is a metaphor –

as in calling the ocean endless

naming riptides undertow

we: new and other molecules

blur into water, two bodies

one brackish soul. -six pm