Night finally falls.
I lie awake, knowing
sun must deliver a new day
– this must end.

Despite how many nights
we repeat good-bye, or how
tight we encase our thoughts
– they always escape.

Dreams never do harness desire.
It’s amid the night we earn a taste of passion
– leading us to wanting more as the day breaks.

Blame it on the city
and the whiskey – if you
want an excuse.

Tonight it’s the deliberate
release. A drink to
unlock the lips that
used to whisper

softly in my ear. Secrets
that have been dwelling,
dormant, come to
life with another sip. Each

drop on your lips reminds
you of how I tasted. To hell
with self control. The space
between us is both a blessing

and a curse. How dare you
take my delicate mind back
to that place. Is there
harm in desire? It’s nothing

more than the memories that
become more clear
as the rest of your mind
becomes hazy. But you knew

the danger of writing only
under the weight of the bottle.
The lighter the load, the truer
the words. The fear you fake

of what you’ll say
fades as the buzz wears
off and you look down
to read the truest words

ever written. So blame it on
the city and the whiskey
and forget it -

or refuse to forget at all.

Light pours in
through the opened
curtains in the middle
of the night. Lying
awake, there are no
shadows to fear.

But with a moon this
bright, there is no rest.
Even the deer feed
throughout the night – they
know no difference. Our minds

run a race that doesn’t end
until the light of day. She
puts up a fight. Oh
how can She be such a
beauty, and still a tragedy -

enchanting.

Tonight, She awakens
the most wonderful
thoughts. Things you would
not dare imagine in the darkest
nights; She knows the good

ones are often the
worst to think.
They are as tempting as
She, but hung just beyond
our reach. Eventually,

the day with conquer,
and we can rest.

It’s a walk to be taken alone;
company is distraction in a familiar
place. I’ll set off down

the trail kept by Mother Nature,
in hope that she will welcome me
with open arms – the thick brush captures

my soul. Fighting through the grown-
up thicket and grown-out branches
to walk a once forgotten path. Alone,

I’ll tread a new territory that can leave the weak
and strong beaten alike – even thick denim
rips with the sharpest thorns. I’ll fall to my knees

but the suffering is worth the gain
as the path disentangles to confess
a sunset brighter than the one that began.

The screen door still won’t shut
from the fight they had last spring.
She lied her way right out
of that door, and she hasn’t been
back – until now.

Now it’s cold, too cold for a Southern
September, but the front-porch fern
is dying just the same. The late night frost
reminds her that Summer has forgotten
to thaw her out. She’s bitter,

but she wears it well.
She wants to care, but she can’t recall
the last kiss that was more than a simple touch
of two mouths – a lip for a lip.
She wants to care, but her eyes are fixed

on the chipped paint on the wall
by the light switch, and the flickering light
in the hall. His eyes are closed.
The road home is long and dark. Her worn
out tires are spinning like the wheels

in her head. Her tingling chin is still red
from his scruffy face.