he may have broken her
but her eyes will still glow golden in soft sunlight
even if her cheeks are stained with tears

s.s

When we look into each other's eyes
You say  the constellations are in mine
If so, I gaze upon the galaxies in thine.

You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.

I've been
     trying
     to find
            words to describe
the secrets
            of ancient bones
            hidden within this temple
in which i've made my home.
Perhaps if you took the time
to study
              the walls I call
                    my skin
               covered with
graffiti & hieroglyph,
You might find
                           some
                                    greater
                ­                                 truth
obscured by
my own lack
of knowledge
                         on where
                               and how
                         to begin

So maybe I'll start
                                 with the
                                 original
                             big           BANG
Detail
every moment
of recorded history
that lead up to the exact
                                  explosive moment
when our lips met for the first time
and i slipped
into a new    
                        universe
                          where­    

I only want to fill silence

           with your                             
                                                    name

Through portico of my elegant house you stalk
With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit
And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net
Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back.
Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak
Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light
Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight
Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break.

Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock;
While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I sit
Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot,
Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?