You and I, handcrafted in lust,
borne of sea and blood -
you, of Aphrodite,
and I, of Ares.
The violence of your love
destined to be matched only
by the tenderness of my violence.

And my hands, war-given, strong,
made for battle,
grow soft at your hips, and
softer yet at the cliff of your thighs,
as they crash softly in the bay in-between.
And how these hands long for you, my child of goddess,

long for you like the armor of my chest longs
for your sweet mouth,
longs for your gentle fingertips
in the calm before the storm.
The passion of your tenderness a momentary reprieve
before I go to war;

and when I go, oh, the power that overcomes me,
and the weapons I will bring,
and the blood I will draw.
In the fashion of my father, as he tied Aphrodite's hair
in his fist, and
as he broke down her barriers, claiming her city,
her temple,
her soul.

The lullaby of her moans
reminiscent in your voice,
my favorite sound and
my chosen battle cry.

The land of milk and honey
is liquid again -
all rivers flowing, all
summer winds blowing, all
leaves green and fresh

if there is
a price for love, a price for your touch,
I'll gladly pay the Pharaoh,
I'll gladly be the crutch for
all his wise men and oracles,
all his wives and daughters and sons

I'll carry their burdens with joy,
every day, night for night,
spurned on by the promise of
your lips, your thighs,
your honeysuckle skin, your
rose colored hair, your
sun-kissed face, the spots dancing on your nose.

In the land of milk and honey
I found my worship in its rivers,
its seas of gold and pearl,
its lap that's filled with lilacs and rosehips,
and I will kiss you good morning until
the sun doesn't rise and
the stars don't shine and
the moon doesn't watch our prayers at night anymore.

In freedom,
madness of beauty,
I love all and nothing,
every member of the space surrounding, so much
and extendedly
that I come to tears,
my physical demonstration of overconscience.
I am truly and on all the planes
a Lover.

Love is not attachment.
It is not affection or passionate desire.
Love is not a longing or a warm feeling of fondness.
Nor is it an intense, wholehearted attraction.
Love cannot be these things.

Love is benevolence.
Love is giving, selfless and complete.
Devotion.
Love cannot be said.
Love may only be done.

A flame flickers before me, I can feel the heat,
I'm glad I was chosen out of my domain,
My substance will empower your body,
In which I can ruin and maintain,

I boast to be very addictive,
You'll need strong will power to defeat me,
The source of my very essence,
Not much more than tar and nicotine,

Yes I can be truly satisfying,
As you're consently puffing away,
My black smoke's inhaled into your lungs,
Only inner strength will keep me at bay,

I'm grateful that you have assigned me,
For my side effects to make you sick,
By me the lit vessel in your mouth,
Your devoted cancer stick.

I get up in the morning
and my first duty is to our cats
to ensure they have food and water
to satisfy their simple needs.
They have no urgency to gather in
the myriad strands and filaments
of my mind to focus on them.
Unlike me, they are without ego
or neurosis or compulsions
or impulse to chew and devour
startling new currents of thought
or to dissect and parse tradition
to produce some new light of intellect.
Their feline genius of simplicity
is my present focus of admiration
and desire.
But of course I could never dissolve
the accumulated humanity
focused in my solitary mind
and achieve the elegant ease
with which our cats occupy
their meager patch of earth.

my pull towards you
was instant
and all-encompassing,
as if i'd been
living in darkness
and you were the first
splashes of colour
i'd ever seen.
i wondered how someone
could be so beautiful,
how i could be so lucky
to wake up and see
the ocean
dancing in your eyes.
in those moments i knew
my heart would never
burn for anyone,
the way it ached for you.

stolen amber nights
wrapped in your arms
underneath
the midsummer moon,
our greedy hands
looking for more.
worshipping each other
like sinners
searching for a god
we don't believe in,
now your sweet moans
will always be
my greatest hallelujah.

I like the way that you sing
when you think that I’m not listening,
and it’s amazing the smile you can bring,
when you do even the simplest thing.

Go on and put my heart under arrest,
and proceed with each Miranda right;
at the trial I will plead no contest,
I’m guilty of thinking of you every day and night.
No need for a jury to resolute,
as each line upon my suit,
will be the love I profess just finally brought to light.

It’s just you,
and what you do to me.
You turn the sky blue
and keep the sun shining.
I thought I couldn’t do a thing
but true love’s always lingering.
It’s just you,
you’re all that I see.

I wish to write poetry for you but I forgot my pen,
but no paper for my hands or tongue so you’re body’s perfect to lend.
Up and down I’ll write “I love you” in lines,
at very least a hundred times,
over and over again making you contort, shake and bend.

We’ve been saving the best for last
but it’s nowhere near the end,
and while time is now moving so fast
do you remember when it was the furthest from a friend?
Some measure it by slipping sands,
but sometimes matters must be forced by hands,
to correct actions of the past,
and heal wounds that couldn’t mend.

It’s just you,
and what you do to me.
You provide each foot a shoe
and hold me up walking.
I was choosing to be by myself
than fake this with someone else.
It’s just you, naturally.

Sun-rimmed
& splendorous
this afternoon of us
barefoot in the grass
...
Noontide escapade
& pageantry
the mural on the wall of your heart
says you agree
...
Loving outside of ourselves
constructs the nook
I feel what you feel
Sehnsucht
...
There's an au fait air
between this man & wife
bound in codex
this breath of life