Love her like
She's the raging sea,
Unrestrained and dark and deep.
And you crave her touch
Through aching pores
As you slowly drown in sleep.

Love her like
She's the tender storm,
A lovely shade of grey.
Like with every whiff
Of breath she takes,
She's taking yours away.

Love her like
She's the silent clouds
With calmness floating by.
Like you'd want to make
Sweet love to her
Under the moon's apocalyptic eye.

Love her like
She's the blazing fire,
And you lust the candied pain.
Like she's the disease
That swallowed you whole
And you'd like to die again.

When her gentle touch
Makes your chest explode,
And your addiction is your girl.
Promise you'll love her
Through hell and back,
Or don't you dare love her at all.

i am a terrible poet.
the words i tied together in attempt
to annunciate 
the way your kisses felt
along the soft of my 
cheeks were
mediocre and just barely enough.

just barely.

there weren't enough ways that i could describe
the mouthful 
of stars that spilled at the seams of my

lips as you gently traced them with warm finger tips.

mm, your finger tips.

your finger tips felt like a personal extension from god himself as

they dusted the empty jars i left untouched

in the forgotten spaces of me.

you held them tightly and filled them to the top

with a breathful of morning secrets

and hidden places to meet.

i found you.

i found you and allowed the words to slip

through my small hands

as you kissed my palms gently and sweetly

and folded them into your own to keep for just a little bit.
(
i could stay here)
i could lay underneath your tired smiles

and messy hair

until stars realigned themselves and directed

me to you all over again.
(
i could stay here)

i could tangle in-between your pale sheets
and make up all the words that

effortlessly translate the way i melted and simmered

at the sheer thought of waking up and knowing you again.

i could illustrate all of the galaxies you whispered

onto the trail of my back with

colors and warmth i never knew

and turn them into poorly strung together,

black and white strings of thought.

you were my favorite secret

and the cause of all of my writer’s block.

(i could stay here)


i’ve lived in florida my entire life

and have spent more days than i can count

under the sun and in the wake of rays that always burned,

but i’ve never felt more warmth than lying underneath

your expired thoughts and eclipsing eyes

as the moon seeped through your broken window blinds.

i forgot what it was like to breathe

until you took my face
sweetly and sincerely
and kissed me.
the paragraphs and ellipses that perforated my parenthetical
sighs of relief
stained the corners of my mouth
and lingered
long enough for me to remember
the after taste of your recycled sunshine
as you left me.

i am a terrible poet,
but a better kept secret it seems.

Lately I found myself
Amidst my covers
Yet unable to surrender
To peaceful slumber;

I kept feeling the urge
To create, to pass the time
Awake, working on art, lest
My nights be as vacuous as my days.

I became voracious in
My drawing, producing
A portfolio with only
Shades of graphite.

Still the next night
Would come, and
Again the mania would
Possess my thoughts.

So I began to delve
Into the sounds of my
Imagination, conceiving
Wondrous symphonies.

Yet still I found myself
In the sea of linens
Instead of losing myself
In the clouds of dreams.

Then lo! the answer came
Like water falling on rock:
I pined not for graphite on
Paper or song on staff

But rather I longed for
The flow of words
Cascading as water
From your lips

Which pooled into a
Pond of letters, dissolving
And reforming until they
Grew, becoming an

Aftergrowth of green foliage
Sprouting from the rushing
White and turquoise blue
Of your spoken word.

I miss my muse who
Made my imagination reap
The wealth of my thoughts
Into countless combinations of prose.

I miss my muse who's
Rune created a haven
In which my verse could
Flourish and abound from my pen.

We create an oasis out of
Our sounds and syllables-
A wellspring of stanzas and verse,
A fountain of prose and poetry-

As idealists and transcendentalists
We painted our reality out of
Our thoughts and dreams, our
Perceptions and realizations of nature;

Our meeting came like the
Creation of a dual galaxy:
Slowly forming in a
Passing cycle between two,

Our minds slowly spun
Together as two hearts of
Our own worlds, until
All at once the two were one.

Forging a new galaxy,
Simultaneously of you and me,
We created a breeding ground
Where your poetry met mine

Resulting in the accumulation
Of poems that shined against the
Vast emptiness of space as stars:
Tiny beacons amidst a sea of nihilism.

How could I sleep when I have
Entire galaxies to craft with
Words into poems, and poems into
Stars? I miss my muse of creation.

they say you withhold galaxies within you, underneath your skin and interwoven with your flesh
the stars caught within your veins, the milky way found inside your blood stream

they also say nobody can hear you scream in space
so maybe thats why when it’s dark at night and you’re questioning yourself,
the final draw,
the silent hour.

you’re facing the bleak ceiling and screaming, you raise your pitch and yet nobody can hear a sound

you’re alone
lost in space.

I remember asking my dad,
“How many stars are in the sky,”
and he said something like,
“Way too many to count.”
But I’ve counted.
And after recounting
                                      and recounting
and scribbling in my notebook
under my fathers flashlight
I can tell you that there is
indeed a number.

And to this day I prefer
reading the stars over anything.
They’re the oldest book ever written.
Space: the oldest canvas to be sewn
and the cosmos the paint of Picasso.
Each spec is its own character
each pair a set of eyes
where I can lose myself in their gaze.
A celestial connect the dots
where I collect the pictures
and pick out my favorite spots.

But when my son
is old enough to ask,
“How many stars are in the sky?”
I’ll just hand him a notebook
and tell him to read what he sees.

let’s explore the universe of love
.
like galactic butterflies
,
we soar, we link
,
we dance, we sync
.
lost in cosmic euphoria,

induced by the warming glow of starlights
,
& the undeniable feeling of being home
.
we marvel in the light
,
like sunbathing crystals
,
casting rainbows threw space
.
our beauty is endless & moving
.

we are so divine
,
& now we are free.

free to love, to dream,
to create, & to play.

we breathe in prana
 & we feel peace.
we bask in the essence of love & oneness
.
we let it fuel us 
& fill us up
.
look at us
, we are so high now
,
we are the sky now.
there is no going back
,
but we never would
,
cause the truth has never felt so good.

we were made for this
.
we were made for bliss
.
we are the fruits of this universal tree,
i was always you
 & you always were me
.
now we are infinite.

now we are home
.
now we are alive.

oh tender heart
,
oh fragile mind
,
your soul is free 
& so is mine

The greatness of the ocean
Captures me each time
The power of the water
The surface that seems mine
The rolling of the thunder
That rushes every tide
And still I find my peace in
The emptiness so wide
I could stare forever in
The darkness of the waves
And let the flood take all
My cares and fears away
Each time I feel that cool breeze
And smell the scent of shore
I wish to drown in the deepness
Of that ocean just once more

When I close my eyes, I see your beautiful face
It makes me so happy

When I close my eyes, I see your amazing smile
It warms my heart

When I close my eyes, I see your intoxicating eyes
It takes my breath away

When I close my eyes, I see your backward glance
It makes me smile

When I close my eyes, I can see you shimmy
It makes me laugh

When I close my eyes, I can see us together
It fills my heart with joy

When I close my eyes, I see my future
It is full of you

When I close my eyes, I see you walking down the aisle
It is my dream 20