I'm tired and always cold
Almost finished a family size box of Cheerios...food comas.
Lack of motivation because it's so gloomy and cold outside.
So, it seems like a better idea to stay in my warm solitude, rather than being productive and having a life.
But this too shall pass shortly,
It's just depression seasonally.

Who are we really?

We're all human beings on the outside, covered in flesh and filled with blood

But beyond that,

                                       Who are we really?

Are we good?
What is good?

Are we bad?
What is bad?

We're living, but are we actually a l i v e ?
What does alive mean, actually?

We're all breathing,
But what does that mean?

Deep down, inside
                                             Who are we really?

I want you.

Even if for
the briefest
moment of time;

even if the world
disapproves,
and it will;

even if our hellos
quickly become
good-byes;

None of that matters:

the world and time
mean nothing to me,

I see no rules
in your soft
green eyes.

I want you.

~mce

How did it feel
not to be touched
for all that time?

Especially
for a woman born to touch,
who feels so deeply
the colors of the day.

You know more
of the hidden power
of loneliness
than you let on.

~mce

~ just the short list.*

Her words, her voice,
the way she articulates
her soul's depths.
Creativity, curiosity,
the things she needs to know.
Smiles and giggles,
a vivid sense of humor.
A mind that devours
what it needs to grow.
Jeans and T-shirts;
sundresses and sandals.
That she appreciates
what it means to be naked
and doesn't flinch.
The desire to touch
and to be touched, often.
The way she can
walk into any room
and fill it up with light.
The mystery of why
she chose me.
Her sense of possibility.
The way she is content
with just who she is.
  ~mce

i shot an arrow into the sun
i don't know why i did
curiosity, i guess you can call it

but shortly
honey began to drip from the sky
and turned the sea golden

you almost wanted
the blonde waves to swallow you

imagine all of us--
together,
hair twisted with each other

like a fly preserved
in hardened amber--
a memory

I am not the kind of man
who wants to possess anyone;
We are not things to buy.
You can only give love,
you can never own it.
    ~mce