the dead of night
isn’t dead at all
it is a living mystery
born each day
of Mother Dusk

If day is life
And night is death-
Then what is dawn or dusk?
The death of death will dawn,
But life goes on and on

I am neither in the dark nor am I in the light
Just in limbo
It may be at dusk or at dawn
The moment where I am at is the moment that exist
Words are few to come by
With so little to say
But so much that is unsaid
I wonder when will be that day

golden streams of sun
sink, unwrap, dance,
melt into the trees
like honeycomb,
silver the ground
with their tender warmth.
the day is dying but so gently
that the shadows can only lengthen
dreaming their dreams of the night.

And I would bite my tongue gladly
for just another taste of yours;
For the way my name glazed off your front tooth.
Each syllable sticking to my collarbones,
leaving red marks on both cheeks.

I want to smell the scent of your laughter.
I want to feel the waves of your sighing chest
kissing the shores of my spine.
I want, again, for you to hold the glacial angles of my jaw,
because you are the only one
who fears not
of the winter that lies beneath my lips.

And sometimes our teeth would kiss if our mouths weren't moving fast enough.
Your nails clenched into the clay spaces between my ribs,
hoping to hold on just long enough
to make an impression on me,
but I don't think you realize
how deep your divots run.

So let me carve my initials into the peaks of your shoulder blades.
Let me write poetry on your skin.
Let me cover you in the ashes of a thousand goodbyes that echo too hot to let go.

Just let me stay.
Let me stay amidst the oak and sage of your backbone.
Let me stay nestled inbetween the dusk and summer,
of what's to come and what's to be.

So, this is how it ends. In the tests of generous love, we defied all of mankind, but something in this heart of mine is telling me it’s time to stare down the eye of destiny.
I’ve hunted black holes of silence to find peace, and in turn that darkness has swept me into an unshakeable fever. I feel like I’m forever breaking. I feel like I’m always digging for the feel of something new.
When the silence of the world holds me, and when I am agonized with disquiet, I find myself thinking the good times may never come back again.
There’s a specific, maddening breed of danger out here on the edge, and final understanding.
Sitting here with my feet dangling into the void, I’m watching the sun crash from the sky into the horizon, and there is golden fire sailing along the edge of the mountains.
I know the echo that is love; I hear its brontide footsteps fading into the faraway distance, as if somebody is slowly turning down the volume.
Like a machine shaking and shuddering with voltage, I’m giving in to whatever moves me.
Whatever moves me.

When we'd stood and wondered
where our lives were going,
not knowing our hearts had blundered
still we waited for the midnight crowing.

We thought we could begin our journey
at the morning's first light,
and when the fires were lowly burning
we had seen that beautiful sight

At light's last waning glow
we realised our folly
and felt love's striking blow.

We fell and neither was sorry
as we were consumed by the falling snow

The golden burn of dusk
   kisses my window panes and walls;
On table tops it rests,
   the moon and stars it calls.

Far above the horizon,
   the honey sun waves good-bye
With sighs of blues and purples,
   its glory's end is nigh.

The birds sing their last songs
   atop the birches' bough
And the sunset leave us thinking,
   "What do we really know?"
In another world it is rising,
   but right here it hides from view,
burying its face, so when morrow comes
   we can marvel its glory anew.