The colors of the flower touched my eyes
like the warmth of summer air touched my skin.  
Like tenderness of your kiss touched my heart,
space between sense and feeling is so thin.

We’ve grown accustomed to this sacred space,
where we don’t notice the weight of the air.
Still, it touches every inch of our self,
a touch so light we act like it’s not there.

The physicality of our senses
is defined by near invisible touch,
of the lights, the colors and fragrances,
they touch like you, but not nearly so much.

A fluttering feather would crush mountains—
no touch is lighter than your fingertips.
Yet no sensation ever had more depth,
than the weightlessness of kissing your lips.

No one knows me better than my demons.
I’ve been caring for them, nurturing them
like a parent afraid to see them leave.

My demons have remained faithful to me.
There is no part of me more forgiving.
I’ve fought with them, and tried to destroy them.

But my demons never abandoned me.
They’ve stayed with me, always speaking to me
kindly, with their gentle, sensitive voice.

My demons are my intimate partner.
At my worst and earliest suffering,
they arrived, eager to help me adapt.

My demons epitomize devotion.
They don’t have feelings for anyone else.
They only care about protecting me.

Sometimes, I try to confront my demons.
And then they just listen, like a friend should,
and offer to let me live without them.

But my demons know better than I do.
Feeding on self-loathing, the more they eat,
the more self-loathing I am to become.

My demons have figured survival out.
If I just choose self-loathing over love,
they will stay a part of me forever.

I thought I heard a chirping bird
just about this morning’s sunrise.
Don’t think a mating call I heard—
sounded like a shriek of surprise.

I was surprised, too, and quite so.
Not from the bird’s chirp. Well, perhaps.
There were puddles instead of snow,
and snow-plowed mountains in collapse.

That chirping bird and I both saw
the cautious springing up of spring.
But while that bird sang to the thaw,
I don’t think I’m done worrying.

Seasons ’round here don’t change like that.
Although winter has one more freeze,
the bird on its Tree Ararat,
celebrates forty-five degrees.

This morning it was just one bird,
soon maybe crickets will chirp, too.
But I think spring is seen not heard,
and that chirp’s too good to be true.

I have a headboard on my bed.
I don’t like when the pillows fall,
slid between the mattress and wall,
with nothing to prop up my head.

I do not have a footboard though.
(It’s a footboard, right? I’m not sure.)
It seems a bedset’s haute couture—
useless ornament just for show.

I also don’t have those siderails.
You know. The kind that toddlers use,
so they don’t fall off while they snooze.
For now, I’ve outgrown such travails.

See, three is my lucky number,
and there can be no objections
if from one of three directions,
I climb in to start my slumber.

Now, though, all that having been said,
I really haven’t slept okay.
Wait! I’ll just sleep the other way!
I have a footboard on my bed.

Music—the score of victories,
triumphant cymbals of success
of orchestrated histories,
to regal anthems to impress.

Music—scribbled notes to recall,
arranged in sync with beating hearts
resounding with clarion call,
of overtures meaning imparts.

Music—felt across Earth’s measure,
in staccato revelation
that accompanies God’s treasure—
the symphony of creation.

Music—God’s whistle in the wind,
that piano voice, in us He set
the atonal key, blessed or sinned,
music is our divine duet.

Mistakes have names we hope to never speak:
Anger, lust, jealousy, selfishness, rage.
Mistakes are words we bestow on the weak,
Or the young, as we get better with age.

Mistakes are pseudonyms for impatience:
Insecurity, coldness, raised voices.
Mistakes describe us when we don’t make sense,
Or too immature, to grasp our choices.

Mistakes are identities we mistrust:
Ego, narcissism, self-loathing, shame.
Mistakes we avoid and avoid them we must,
Or we thought, we must forgive all the same.

Mistakes may come from dissatisfaction,
Or frequently just, overreaction.

Love.
Love is.
Evermore.
Love is always.
Undeniably,
Indefatigably,
Indescribably,
Insatiably,
For­ever.
Always.
Is.

Love.
Love lasts.
Tirelessly.
Love is always.
Unconquerably,
Indeterminately,
Imperviously,
Inscrutably­,
Immortal.
Always.
Lasts.

Love.
Love lives.
Timelessly.
Love is always.
Interminably,
Interconnectedly,
Independently,
Incredibly­,
Infinite.
Always.
Lives.

The freeze returned, and I, no earmuffs on,
Expecting warmth, kissed by the sunlight’s dance,
Ice kissed my ear, poor cuddle in the dawn,
Curse the frozen, I’d melt if in warm hands.

The calendar, it turned with betrayal,
The promised spring, a kiss that never came,
‘Tis the season, of relationship fail,
Morning and night, that chill comes all the same.

Jack Frost nipping, but not what I deserve,
Frostbitten heart, when will your fire be lit?
This cold despair, how much more in reserve,
My lips turn blue, hot kiss, I wait for it!

The atmosphere about me, done me wrong.
I’ve waited for some warmth for far too long.

Holding hands, we’ve got a reason
To be together.
Taking a stand, for a moment in time
And forever.

We’re all here,
Because we care,
About something.
We each speak,
but together
One voice matters

Sickened by the news,
Hate against Blacks and Jews.
Schoolchildren aren’t safe,
Tiki torches in our face,
their light shows, we’re all one race.
No one wants your view,
But I do,
And the women scream,
“Me too!”

Arm in arm, defending our rights
For each other.
Sound the alarm, have we stopped caring
For one another?

Thoughts and prayers
Are all we hear,
We need more.
If we all,
speak together
Our voices matter.

We can’t feed our poor,
But the rich keep getting more.
Instead of bridges,
We get walls.

When did we go blind, to the suffering
Of the stranger,
who’s our neighbor?
I can’t just be for me, if I’m free,
So people, follow me.

Open your eyes, staring down power
For freedom.
Time to rise, pray with your feet.
We need you.

Speaking up,
Because silence,
Grows evil.
If we all,
March together
Our footsteps matter.
We spend more on defense,
But we never invest,
In those we most need to protect.

Land of opportunity?
Shutting doors?
What future is in store?
Now is our time.
Get in line.
Your voice,
Is mine!

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“A smile takes twenty muscles to produce.”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
My heart is the only muscle I use.

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“Bill Gates is giving his money away.”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
Since I found you I’m richer by the day.

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“Chocolate will be extinct by end of year.”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
Yours is a sweetness forever, sincere.

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“Click ‘like’ and Ellen will give you a car!”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
You have been my gift and my shining star.

The internet, it seems, has little true—
It’s likes and follows and asinine memes.
Nothing compares to the authentic you—
You’re my one true love made real from my dreams.