When I venture beyond the
            schemes of a
            hundredth breathes.

As each one that starts a year,
           culminating in the expiration
            of woeful expirations.

No one expects within there life time
             of exhales, that each one
will permeate counts lingers  beyond 100.

Collecting exaltations, that when
            timed, they'll never pass the
  hundredth moment of our lifetime.

Familiarity echoed golden through her mind
Just a light touch here
A flash of a light, and eyes stared knowingly.
A lovely little gasp of breath
As everything was awash in a setting sun.

Breath short,
Distance long,
Goals still not reached,
I hobble along.
Time fast,
Pace slow,
My soul unknowing,
I have no place to go.
Wide smiles,
Loads of lies,
Distrust grows,
In my wavering eyes.
One hand firm,
One hand shaky,
They are strong,
I am weak, my insides achy.
Breath short,
No distance,
I have stopped,
With much resistance.

Let's talk about this jazz club
that lives in my cellphone
in 1950 something with Chet Baker
back from the dead.
Let's toast to random notes taking flight
into the city in the middle of nothing nights we've known or been familiar with.
Let's shake hands cordially with the unfamiliar as in "deal", or "peace be with you" as if in church, tipping hats at that stranger passing by at the crosswalk some late evening in spring alongside dandelions sprouting forth from the pavement. Let's read between breaks of beats Kerouac must have hit in 1950 something San Francisco in yelps into the moonlit stages of the balcony of his boxcar boxcar boxcar gone by in a mad blur with whatever graffiti'd message of hope it bore on its sides. Let's hitch into the unknowingly infinite by way of the pen's mighty point. Let's unlearn the way syllable by syllable and demolish languaged signs like hurricane force candor blowing down fact-ory made terms and political decorum as smoke from the pages of their corporate handbook joins the Chet Baker solo note pilgrmage into the holy skyline. Let's move side by side unspoken as those jazz notes he forgot to play. Let's fill in those blanks with uninformed confidence beyond our abilities and grasp the unsayable names of our dreams remmebered. Let's see in seconds passing like bums inebriated with the holy moments gone too soon. Let's talk about nothing but this sacred second at hand on this clock unseen pointing overhead to the face of the moon gone full and hungry for attention. Let this happen only now. Only then will we talk about where it's going.

It's so much more
Than the daffodil sunrise
Exhaling puffed purple trails of smokey
Cotton ball clouds
Reflected across the stitches
Of your hazel-green iris
That captures my attention so,
And refuses to return
My breath you've stolen.

I wanted to cry
It’s a strange coping mechanism I have for when
Things don’t add up but
The air is dry and
There’s no sense in breathing it in
Anymore

I couldn’t cry
My mind was not there
In that wavering state
Bordering fear and anger and
The air is dry and
I am not breathing it in
Anymore

I keep opening my email
Hoping for a petty distraction from
My senses all piling in at once
Giving in to heat
And breaking reason but
The air is dry and
Breathing is not living
Anymore

I find joy in letting things go
It’s come as natural as beating
In the chest
I am awake but dream to wake
On a day sun really shines and
The numbers really add up while
The air is dry and
Breath is not a good enough excuse
Anymore

I wanted to cry
But the well’s all dried up
Parched of all its
Perceived life

--
c

I miss the taste of your lips
With every sip of coffee

I miss the fragrance of your body
With every breath, I breathe

I miss the good old days
With every sleepless night, I survive

Oh, my beautiful nightmare!
Oh, my darling,
Let me love you
Till my fingertips memorize you.