Every gaze at the moon reminds me of you. Your smile, so bright it dispels darkness all around. Every thought I have is centered around you and countless joyful memories emanate from you. I'm proud to be yours and glad that you're mine.
I love you so much my moonlight

His emerald eyes,
hypnotized,
overanalyzed,
told the boldest lies,
loud as a lion’s cry,
watching chivalry die,
still offering attempts, tries,
to stay alive,
the groans and sighs,
over severed ties,
said otherwise,
only overdramatized,
and swiftly capsized,
in passtime highs,
so it’s always, “See you later”,
never goodbye.

It's weird
When something
Comes in
And makes you
Forget
About all the past things
That you used to love
And never thought
You could get back.

My Moonlight archipelago,
my escape
I approach the buttress of boredom better known as your doorstep

I pull you in...
your hair stretches from clenched fingers and what follows down to the feel of my fingertips is religious in nature
under a broken blue street lights, i cradle inward, immersed now in infinite youth of lust... a flash of light... street lamps lit now a Coca Cola Red ... the color plays, a chromatic cinema fills through
your follicles

I spin you away momentarily and envy my shadow now pressing upon you

we are Cathars,
heuristic heretics,
learning love through touch in a hate filled land (the pesky conformity of late-stage Western Civilization)

still

Your ether look absolves me of this world’s sins
beam raw:
render quiet:
Baptize me in the esoteric and verbose stares, the *** is drawn on your lips, so mouthy, but saying nothing inside the long Chaplin silence,
you vacillate
and I’m vacant
my voice removed
spent, empty in the Valentino deadpan stares 


Post Script: The gaze gave conversations: conversions still silent in her looks, a living Bible's worth of words in those sacred scripture holy eyes.

Sweetest flower of April's touch
veiled upon your *****
permit yourself to blossom
and to these hands clutch.

Futile humility you carry
now that the ring adorns your leaves
our hearts feel genuine and merry
and love, only love they now receive.

I don't think about it any more
I take out the trash
noting
Sticks caught in the crotch of a tree
The wind does what the wind does
breaks weaker branches down
does not care where
it leaves
them
on its invisible way

Days do what the days do
they don't count themselves
worthy as they go
to release
the afternoon
to evening—
an artless
emptying
to a low spot
where tears tend to pool
if I'd let them down

“You know,
in that low spot
out there...?”
Where it's hard to see
Where its hard to care?

They take heart
out
divide it by energy
for sadness—
I haven't got

Watched the clock go round
wipe out my little plans
with relentless hands

...and I never got dressed today