Your absence
laps
at my shore
like a
f o r g e t f u l tide;
some days
it stays
                                   out,
letting me
breathe,
letting me
be-
other days,
it makes up for this,
swamping me
in a
tsunami,
and all I
can do
is
keep my
eyes
trained on land.

You are the moon.
Please return soon.

I will wait
blindly scraping through each day
on skinless knees
clawing through with bloodied fingers
searching for the truth to clench to

I will wait
in the bowels of a twisted mind
bending flickers to shadows
in endless search of the light
that teased with relentless promise

I will wait
for this Hell to freeze my bones brittle
buried in glacial daydreams
of a time that day meant
I could feel the warmth of the sun

I will wait
for the accidental happiness
that covered me like a puddle I fell into
while stumbling through existence
simply drawing breath

I will wait
in jagged darkness for the only reality
that makes sense of this place
for in that union is peace so pure
it washes the universe in light

So, yes, I will wait
an eternity of gaping wounds
bathed in the brine of silence
never giving voice to the grated truth
of the best part of who I am

GOING TASADAY

The Tasadays
(remnants of a Stone Age culture)        

recently discovered in the Philippines

have no words
for war, hate or weapons

but favour
the communicative power

of skin

indulging in constant
warm enfolding embraces

loving touches.

So, this Tuesday
let's be Tasadays

hark back
to Stone Age practice

and indulge in

the process of osmosis

soaking each other up

skin to skin.

You are just my fragile dream
My butterfly dream
My dandelion love
The elusive hummingbird among
Twigs and leaves
The illusive flower within the
Murano glass
That can only be reached when
Shattering

Not to be chased
Not to be touched
Not to be caught
Without escaping
Without breaking
Without losing

Still I tried to chase it
Tried to caress it
Tried to catch it
Tried to love it
All the while losing it
Losing myself
Running towards
This mirage of a love
As I get blown away
By the wind of impossible things
And storms of self-deceiving affections
Till I am merely a handful of stardust
Breaking
Escaping
Eventually blending in
Seamlessly
Within
The Desert of Lost Dreams

the cherry wood box
sits on the mantle
it is a reminder
of his love
handmade, upon a lathe
from a burl of an old sweet cherry
it is smooth as silk to touch
of a deep yellow redish hue
carved to look like the rounded back
of a cat curled in on itself, asleep
the rings once present in the tree
give the box the look of a tabby cat

inside the love notes we share
it has over time become a letterdrop
today....his note...invites me to
a night of gentle but thorough  love
my note....says...yes....please