i do not Love you any more.

although i did once.

fiercly.

and, i find it humorous
that this is how things
should be.

i do not Love you any more.
and, this will be the last
that i will ever Write
about you.

i do not Love you any more,
because i cannot
remember
what loving you was like.

i do not Care what
odd number of
other men come to
visit your doorstep.

or love you
or you them.

i do not Love you any more,
because where once was
Chopin
and his etudes
now
there is Prokofiev.

i do not Love you any more,
because i am in love with
another;
and she portends
a future.

i do not Love you any more,
because before now
i am not sure i knew
what love was.

not really.

and maybe that's
all the more sad.

she is fire!

she smolders and ponders
and consumes me, unthinking.

such a complex burn.

it rages on the outside,
keeping me warm
and sending delicate tendrils
into the aether.
red and orange wisps
that wound and remind.

it blazes on the inside.
cascading, rolling, volcanic
laughter
and
self-immolation.

and i,
this clumsy, arrogant
wooden toy soldier
will happily
and without consternation
fuel this fire
with pieces of himself.

i will feed each
delicate thought
both untouched
and untamed.

burn from yourself
the past
and make for us
a new day !

oh unique purity!

oh scorched Terra!

you chase tempestuous thought
from stormy mind.

and in return
i will keep
your cast shadows at bay,

and list them by name
so that i may know them all

intimately.

i am a man in love!

and oh what magnitude!

what vainglory!

what violence!

what brightness!

this love is a journey through
the harsh black sea.
still, reflected motes
of moribund starlight.

it is a chamber without air
and sharp grasses.

it is war and thunder!

it is two bodies,
entwined,
altogether ruined
by sweetness.

and so kiss by kiss
i seek infinity.
to cloak you
in that same night sky.

your kingdom
in all of it's rivers
and tiny villages.
streams that sing
of narrow valleys
and blood colored carnation.

my love!

we have found one another!

you found me thirsty,
having drank the wine
and honeyed milks
and bitter spirits.

i found you wounded,
your world taking
small pieces
and giving nothing.

together we are healing and quenched.

your body
slick with sweat
wedged into mine
is finality.

these sinews and tendon
wrapped into mine, and
i cannot tell where i end
and you begin.

it is nights like this,
when you aren't here that
you emerge from the shadows
and swallow
everything.

like time,
or horizon
or infinite
or the sea.

everything.

everything.

and, on our ship
made of flowers
we are mad
and drunk
and i am a man in love.

i am so many things.

but this is so you may hear me.

sometimes,
my words are thin.
delicate, and wan, and
meager.

and i watch these words
drift to you
like jasmine perfumed
mediterranean breeze,
or flotsam
across a ships bow.

and sometimes they clamor,
and climb,
and strangle me,
like clumsy ivy
and nest in the base
of my mind.

yet they're Never
enough.

but still, i tax them.
the arduous and vexing,
the demanding and stressful
ever insufficient vocabulary.

your love is wine, spilled.
it stains me and
permeates the soil.
and if that wine
be mine own blood
then that love is my sword.

it stains me.

it stains me.

and sometimes you will hear
words that are not Mine.

cruel and jealous.

spiteful and poor.

and in these moments
you will wear my verses,
like a talisman against them.

this is about a woman.

how does one even put into words
the sense of it all ?

she was the song upon hearing
that changes one's life.

her smiles breaks your Heart
not from sadness;
but the ice that held it together in
permafrost had melted.

and she shines !

she floats around the house
and
my heart,
speaking of nothing
and meaning Everything

she was here.

her scent lingers on it all
and my heart is stained.
pieces of her float in the air
like Dandelion into my coffee
and soul

i traced her form and
buried my face into her hair
while we were complete
and i knew what Home was

she can alleviate the world's hurt
when she strides atop you and holds yours face.
her hair is sand on a hot beach
and it cascades down, burning
but there-in lies safety.

and her eyes
sparkle
when she looks into yours.
they're emerald seas just off the shore
when you can see the sand through
the water.

and she's hungry
and impatient
she wants the future and your love
and fiercely buries herself into your chest.

her skin is kissed by the Sun
warm velvet and tender hands
and yearning curves
and traces of myself.

she takes pieces of me
and carries them with her
when she leaves.
she carries them in the quiet places,
close to her heart.

and i give them freely
these little pieces
but they make her shine
and i could Live
off that love

one of these days
in a world not of my own
i will cast off my doubts
and search for Us
a new land

one of these days
in a world not of my own
i will slice my hands
on grasses made of steel
by neatly gathering hay
to thatch the roof

one of these days
in a world not of my own
i will break my back
as i stack the walls high
and turn stone into Gold

one of these days
in a world not of my own
i will find a thousand kitemakers
to craft a thousand black kites
to celebrate this house

one of these days
in a world not of my own
my bones will chill
as august draws near
but have nothing to wear

one of these days
in a world not of my own
i will clad myself in leaves
someone! lend me a sleeve!
i must clothe the ones i love
in the one shirt that i own

one of these days
in a world not of my own
i will dress in thorny vines
that i have picked
deep within the mountains
This,
to let you know i am here.

one of these days
in a world not of my own
the full blood moon rises
and Smiles like Mocking Deity
it is a herald
of the distance between

and on that day
in a world that i have made my own
broken,bleeding,cold and enraptured by love
i beg you to visit
and i will ask the clouds
to hide the moon
if only for a short while.

plume and pistol.
a fitting end
to folly.