Summer slips away
while I hide in my room
wasting time falling down
wondering if I’ll ever share
this wealth of love
I hoard on my mound
with someone besides myself:
a tragedy, curled up on the rug,
jaded by the compassion
that has been given up
and I can't get enough

I pinch in further to zoom
on the microcosm of my life
and see that it’s cropped into a frame
without resolve or anyone to blame
alone with the blinds drawn
frozen in a still shot
where I'm hiding from the moon
and it has me believing that
I might die alone
from lack of sleep
as I howl and brood

Morning breaks through
requesting me with warmth
and calling out to
wake me before noon.
I hear but don't listen,
instead I'll bask in this gloom,
listless

That surely must produce
some worthwhile art in the end
even if something will always
feel like it's missing

doors & how they swing so far wide
like the gaping shadow
of a pair of lips waiting...

i wonder if you realized i felt the grace
of your arrow -- brushing so lovingly through
the flesh of my *****
& i couldn’t help but to smile

take it away from me, the flutter in my chest, the
residuals of your golden essence
sitting on the rim of modelos
& passenger seat of my monte carlo

when i watch the neutral tones of grainy film
seep into your oily features
i wish you would smile just a bit more

two lovers draped over this canvas
cast their passionate shadows over bedsheets,
pleasurable touches & a recipe for a sickly afterglow,
burning like the delicate backs of fireflies
bursting like a pearlescent bubble
chased by bitter aftertaste of longing

how i wish you knew
how much you made me feel
how my paints drip like honey
& form the lines that become you

when i breathe again the essence has vanished
like paint thinner on acrylic. honey replaced
with a spoonful of sugar
& i cross the street to meet you

suddenly the memory leaves no trace behind
& i can’t help but to trace the spot
where you once stood

A place where I feel safe,
Where my art is noticed,
Where I am somebody.

Raise your cup for a toast,
"I love HP!"

I like music?
Writing is good too.
But music is the best,
I like listening to the records,
As they spin.
Art is nice too,
I like to paint.

---
That's the thing we sign on a poet's grave
That is the symbol of death we know in our language
Every dash etched with the weight of an iron cuff
Have they lived long enough?
No I'm afraid they never got their time to shine
Before their art's demise.
---

Luminous moon
Spring midnight skies
Sparkles like a thousand and one
Diamond love sighs

We gaze with love tenderly ablaze
Your beams golden
through the misty haze
Like a Sweet sunflower
Surreal with loving dreams

Your beauty is fine wine
Like a bohemian ballerina
And a vineyard deep
And sweet with moonlight

Art music and poetry is sublime
Curvaceous it transcends things
Like clouds flowers and rain
At its finest it can soothe the pain
Sensuous its crescendos and balm

First kisses waltz to fine wine caresses
Fine waves of sweet bliss
Salsa in their own way
To moonlit heavenly shores

One can caress it within
The gaze lobes hips and palms
Of their love
In the rose and sunflower dreams
Of their iris soul
To feel more whole

Luminous moon spring midnights
Sunflower beams golden dreams
A thousand and one
Diamond love sighs

Reynaldo Casison