It's just skin
Beautiful flesh
Our comforting cellular blanket
And yet it's color
And it's origin
And what skin you lay next to is somehow a controversial subject...
The validity of a vital *****
becomes a debate
In respect to a background
fueled by hate
To continue a legacy of violent, turbulent, shallow judgement;
If you used those stones cast at others
To build a tower instead
You could get a new view
and see the world
as a shared habitat
and to stop waging violence with words.

the flesh of the fruit
is a precious barrier
Holding all things important within
I protest this skin
Deserves to live
In peace

In my dreams, it seems
there are means for meaning to convene,
an odd mind space in between
what exists and what is unseen;
often intangible serene,
grand, surreal, green
but just a dream it seems,
just a dream a dream a dreeeaaaammmm
coming undone at the seams
ethereal threads, silky sheen
a dimension where the mind teems
a shoulder for my soul's body to lean
my vivid, living dream

Before stiff frost of winter melted to spring dew,
That was when I met you.
Windy gusts of goosebumps to fill the air
Making my arms stippled wings,
Almost ready to fly.
You wove me through the winds of those westward peaks.
Through sugar dusted days,
you were quickly woven in me.

My life's fabric,
newly adorned with the imprint of you-
A colorful, bright adornment to a darker whole.

The frost did melt,
And the river began to flow,
Your promising path was dealt.
And while you sailed away, the rains came, dropping silently from blue eyes
Slowly feeding the river.

It wasn't until the last drop of rain fell
That I noticed my wings
Full of life, renewed in strength and vigor
It was then I realized
You were my catalyst
For my own flight

While others fastened anchors to me,
Freedom was your gift

And with gratitude
The sea bird flies
Hoping to reach the mouth of the river
That carried you

When I lay in bed at night
I see your face
floating in the light-less air of my sleeplessness,
When I’m laying in the grass
Staring at the sky
I see your eyes in the clouds,
When I’m walking down the street
I see strangers
that look like you,
& At the setting of the sun
I see your figure
in the trailing shadows.
Always.
Slipping.
Through.
My.
Fingers.
Let me grasp this, this entity you are.
Because you’re more than human,
or you’re at least part supernova
or a quarter stardust
or something.

True warmth runs deep,
in the web of your reds and your blues,
wrapping and running over every inch of you.
Ninety eight and a fraction of degrees
seeping hot through the intricate map of your bones and tissue.
Every inch bounded in webs and ebbs
of flowing colors,
an endless river to forever be submerged.
How strange is it that the heart resides in a cage?
Protected, beating, behind marrow bars.
Cells in its cell,
fighting and beating in protest to your gentle decay.
Such a display resides within us all,
all blood a testament to the sameness of us.
And if I've captivated you for a moment,
might I ask how different are we?
How my blood runs different than yours?
Though our bodies tell different stories,
the blood is no different.
When you slay them where they stand,
the blood that flows and the tears that fall have no title or rank.
We all bleed the same.