I’m an island
On another planet,
I’m so far away I could die.
The earthquake that made me
Comes back around to shake me up
And now and again
I crumble away a little
And the fish nibble at my toes.
I’m an island,
I’m surrounded, swallowed up
By deep blue melancholy,
I have a little melody
That I whisper through my palm trees
When the wind comes whistling ‘round.
I’m an island
And I’m beautiful
For white sands and a volcano,
I’m so beautiful you’d cry
If you could see me,
You’d try to free me
But I’m stuck to the ocean ground.
I’m an island,
I write myself a novel,
Because I’ve got no one else but Word,
And my four peach- colored walls
Become the horizons that I’m dreaming of
And my floor becomes lagoons
That beckon me to drown.
I’m an island
Because I cry,
My tears are my existence,
I’m my own wife and my own husband,
And I am childless and bloodless and I’ll always be around.

He is a rowboat
Of weathered wood,
Made of love and aged by making love
To the elements that define him,
And his wisdom and his readiness
To cross the Seven Seas.
He is a rowboat,
His billowed sails prepare for passion,
His oars anticipate his return home
With two in tow.
He is a rowboat,
The only one who can
And wants to reach his island in distress,
He carries himself
On wings of wind,
He’ll carry us both
When it becomes apparent that I can’t swim,
He’ll row and row and row his boat
To land ashore on the pain within
And he’ll love me all the way to his mainland.

her pale skin is moonlight breathing
like she has an essence of celestial beauty in
the palm of her hand and
without her the sun will never rise
without her the stars themselves utterly die
like the air itself around her flowing like soft waters
gently drowning all sorrows

she held within her delicate fingers a small canister
'within this is my heart'
made of wood laced with silver threads
it was worn but still retained its strength
it had an illustration of a phoenix
she buried it in the soft soils of her skin
with four nails to keep it in place
each nail carved with fine line drawings from the astral calendar
i ran a volley of kisses quick and soft on her pale skin
hoping to set ablaze
but she passed silent while lingering one hand along my arm
like a grief for our parting

i swim up her presence radiating with careful steps
and i run one finger lovingly along her bottom lip
but cannot contain the river of images that flow there
she photographs my hearts intent with eyes that see my soul
makes still life studies of loves blooming with her gentle wet kiss
and with her soft lip sets smouldering thoughts in my lustful soul

i am the canister she has woven with silver threads
i am the phoenix arising from the ashes
after she has destroyed me with a kiss
i hold her heart gently
for without her
i am a moonless void
empty of stars
i run one finger lovingly along her lower lip
adoring the very scent of her soul on the air
like moonlight breathing