life has never been held within the ( parentheses ) of breathing and
the periods of sentences. see syntax holds no
importance in terms of the soul and beating hearts,  and ( like ee cummings ) i have
never held enough worth in the personal to capitalize myself


but that was before i met You and realized that i have never felt  life
(like being alive in your kiss) before that moment that You
turned me into I
and now
with all of my well-formed syllables and crafted lines
can’t seem to draw the image of this fate and the music of our  
breath dripping across each others skin; no
rhythm of words could ever manifest within the capitalization of
We or the Beauty of Us.

but tonight, as we crawl beneath covers my blood will
approve of this garden between our curves and holding hands.
I will grow the sun to cast an eternal summer
within your smile
(streetlamp halos have never been enough)

but this poem will always say less than the tangible moments of

glances grazes and the heart I carry with Me (carrying it in my heart)
so it can grow like our family trees, reaching (higher than the atmosphere lifting her skirt
to hold in the immensity) their branches into tributaries that flow into being Alive while
the roots of your spirit sprout spores across my skin,
an addiction to slowly sharpen the moment  into
our mouths
rising to breathe in the others breath
our tongues
folding into the song of each others taste
thighs  and hands that grip
at the stepping stones you laid across your
stomach,
while a phrase more powerful than ( I Love You)
is carried within the gesture of your hips
and the lifelines of your palm

because i’ve  never liked the way my
soul lumped beneath the confines of my skin or the way
the muscles of my body fell limp stretched over bones
until I met You. because You make me see
Beauty and emulate the existence of love and
when I try to remember a past without you, it’s less real than
every played out future held in your eyes
and our holding hands