Stripped, naked. Flesh, raw.
Eyes burn like lasers, though you are bare.
The light: “a” light illuminates your limbs.
Its gleam reflects each angle of your body.

A nod of the head and there intent is set.
The stroke of a brush, a flicker of lead.
An artist’s projection upon the canvas.
You are: living, breathing and true.

Each curve invites inquiry; of shadow or shade?
Minds race to undress you further,
they peel at your skin.
Attention averts, bound by the three dimensions of your being.

On a pedestal you stand. Flushed and raw.
Though scrutinized and scanned, they cease to see you.
Simple minded are they,
foolish and dull.

The light grows dim.
Squinting with strain, they cannot grasp you.
You laugh and grin
…
Warmth melts your play-dough skin,
as a light illuminates from within.

My best friend, you
At three in the morning,
You asked me to sing you to sleep.
All I could do was sit; think. Silence.
What to sing,
What to sing.
My best friend, no longer.
A year later, and
I am still thinking,
Of what to sing you.

Everyone keeps
a special smile
hidden under their mattress
or next to the night-stand,
reserved specially for
the special ones.

However,
according to scientists or
romantic comedy writers
or whoever knows
anything about these things,

the problem arises because
everyone wants the one person
who can't be had;

So we all die a little every day
and everyone thinks
secretly
that maybe they
are really going crazy,
this time,

And the voices
in their heads
just
might
be right,

And what if
there is no special smile,
reserved specially for us?

I sit there thinking,
Just thinking.
Wishing and wondering
If the water could wash it all away.

I sit there thinking
Maybe, just maybe
If I sit there long enough
Scrub my body hard enough
It'll wash it all away.

I wonder if I can
Watch all the hurt, pain and sadness
Circle the drain.
Watch it be all washed away.

I sit there
Day after day
Hoping and wishing maybe today
Or maybe even tomorrow
I can wash all the hurt
The pain
The sadness
The fear
Far far away.

I dream of you, my love
for hours that feel like days,
long into the night.
My tender dreaming
becomes an affair of loving reeling
and my soul is stirred to waking

But a dream it wasn't,
and reality it was,
my wonderful, my wanted

Was there ever such a man
who could provide the possibility
of freeing me from my icy cage
and set my soul ablaze
or nudge me into a love drunk haze?

Well here it is,
and here you are
my wonderful, my wanted

Long have I waited
and wondered in discontent
if the star I had wished on
was more than a child's song
that could keep me praying long after dawn

And now you've answered,
your soft words have been spoken,
my wonderful, my wanted

Yes here you are,
and now you've spoken
I am finally here, and finally ready
I must keep my wavering hand steady
As I place my lips upon yours

I realize that something is not right
it isn't midday, to my surprise it's night!
my love that I was kissing,
seems to be missing
I run my hands through my hair,
and to my despair,
You were never there at all

You are a dream,
and a dangerous thing,
my wonderful, my wanted

there is a secret code
a safe word for days that i
i have won and lay myself down
with your body knowing i
i have not broken my vessel
this boat i'm
i'm trying to carry us both in

i feel your heat and breath
full of helpless understanding
with want of my salvation

and your: Answers

you wear my anguish as a sunburn
when my eyes shine hotly
radiation and rubble
bits of shrapnel from love
that embed in your skin
in your skin that doesn't have a home

i sweep and dust my heart
i scrub it ****** and raw
set up a kick drum and boil the kettle
i wish you were comfortable here

    (don't shift uneasy on the sofa
      hands clasped politely in
      someone else's living room)

i am as constant as the southern pole
i wish you would fly to me
without frog-dissecting the mystery
of belonging somewhere

i wish i could keep you
and let our roots entwine

i wish i could free you
wish you away with a dandelion

i wish i could know you
render English or some language
articulate the great ropes
that weave what has somehow kept us together
when the ship went down

will you be an autumn, love?
will you be beautiful and frosty as it dies?

will we season, love?
will we cycle as unbreakable as time?

there is a code word
for days that are alright
that will chase the calendar
    i) as i will chase you now
    ii) as i will stop chasing you
    iii) as i will chase you always

until there is a knowing
until we choose our winters glowing

   (not bound by chains
    just fortified by sewing)

with every stitch and pull
every ***** and row
until there lies embroidered
the archaic ancient murmurings
of the dead language
of knowing when
and trusting

"Happy."