You let yourself unravel every word of each piece of your composition, willingly, beggingly. He raps his fingers down each crescent fall of your vertebra, and every time you look at him, hes a different expression of what you imagined loving, when you were little and brave. His eyes are the color that you saw one time, on acid, when you were fifteen, that you always told your friends about but even you didn't believe after a while. He can pierce you, with anything. With small kisses that float under your eye lids, with a handful of seaweed stuck between his teeth, with the sound of nothing leaving his porcelain lungs. You feel him in this world, you felt him before you knew him. You felt him in your city, you felt him at your door, you felt his electricity shut your mouth and slide down your throat and make love to all the stupid things you were going to say.
      You beckoned him, a long time ago. While other lovers taught you what to hate. When you wished into your stuffed bears, into the leaves in the gutter, into tiny shirt, into bags of wine, into the abyss of a muddy lagoon. In your prayers of becoming a witch, into your prayers of not dying today.
    When he first took your hand, did it almost fall off. Did you forget all the things you hated. Did you watch yourself run into a fairy colored sunset leveraged by all you've let go of. As you begin to tangle your bodies, you begin to remember him. From along time ago, in the snow or in the desert. One time when you and him were kings and queens of a time and a place no body cared no body cared about...
    He asks to speak to the young lady that breaks in you, he braids her hair in round plaited knots. He asks to speak to the child that cries in you, he washes her feet with mud and feeds her handfuls of persimmons.
    His mouth shapes around the curve of your tiny shoulders. He tastes the salt of the ocean from behind your ears. He mixes his hair with your until you imagine what your babies eyes will look like, He smells like the earth under a sweat lodge, like the mud soaked in a mans fight for freedom, fight for love..
     You hold his hand, as he holds you, and you begin to sway slowly, drunkenly into a tender cave that
      cast shadows of the reckless before, a floor covered in peddles of the most beautiful flowers that have ever been.

Midnight on my mind, midnight on my mind. I followed my foot as it slipped into the dust leaving a haunted pirate ship that was going way too fast for casual conversation. The wind was relentless and yelled in my ears as I wondered why I don't own any wigs, and also, why would anyone own any wigs? I feel for my pulse and find it happily nestled behind barely there skin and a few shaky bones. My hunger never asked to be acknowledged, it just whimpered and begged behind my heels like a stray dog I've never met before. The dawn was coming, the ghosts scattered down the cat walk like spiders with flies on their mind. Spiders covered their eyes as a bruised purple sky made love to an orange blossom.

Like the crisp snow crinkle under a panther claws
Like a childs heart gaze in spite of it all
The slow sky turning from summer to fall
Like the tall old trees that wreak and crawl

Idling in the wind,
Sour ash falling slow on my blank back,
Shadows of fears leak,
Bitterly down our temples cheek,
Don’t be stoked alive, barrels of fire
the wood is fake.
The smoke will only make you sick,
turn out your insides and eat them in bits
The only way down is a broken sad stack of books,
shivering and alone,
and everyone that loved you are now up and gone
Sit with pace when your feet are dancing in the clouds
Because you laugh inside but i laugh outlaid
You may tether and tally, count up the knots
But when you step to look down,
all that loved is lost.
I hold in my belly,
a catalog of seeds
And when i die forever
those seeds are me
They dance in the river, sleep in the trees,
eat sour cherries and practice hearts breaking free
love what you love and hold with might
True hearts beat on forever

Fragments of textures wait quiet behind brittle clusters of moss,

growing tension will rattle earth past far than the holders eyes.

Smile while that moss listens for the sunrise.

Intuition  of a beast on its knees.

Indian summer burns cold near november,

Storms will hollow and then will swallow all the sad songs from yesterday until tomorrow.

The one that takes, will it come in the plain of day,

or will it give us a running start and a break into clean waves.

Like the damp heat from crushed bones of fresh water plants,
Like the quiet whisper of hearts when strangers hold hands.
Like let the wind drift pine spines high,
through mountain belly and minds
Like bend, bind, believe, rewind -
Like befriend time
Like the water he smell like,
Like the mornings that wake right,
Like when the grass mats warm salt flats,
              and the little river that laughs in laps