I like to sit outside and
think of you

the grass is fragrant
Which reminds me
of your constant overuse
of cologne to cover the
scent of the cigarettes
You smoke
and the wind
whether it knows or not
whispers your name
and reminds me that you
are a bad idea
that loving you
is dangerous
So I don't listen to the wind
because the wind
has never loved you
and the wind
has never had the satisfaction
of your voice and your smile
And your touch

Golden bronze rays
shower light and
ooze heat in the
noontime hour of
the unforgiving days
of wet June warmth.

Sticky, moist, slick
skin falters under
pressure impregnated
with exhaustion and
unquenchable thirst.

Steam rises from
now viscous tarred
streets after rain
falls with no warning.

Waves of lurid heat
evolve from every surface
in sight near and far.

Wet, hot, moist, sticky,
sultry, intense, stifling.

Summer has made it’s entrance.

Sweat sweet with mid-day summer sun.
Skin burns red to blister.
It permits no resistance.
Insistent on shining.
Eyes squint for shadow.
All to rare in this lonely atmosphere.
Rarer breezes blow to tease relief,
But all this provides for view beyond belief.
The city erupts in the Sun's Rays.
Reflecting infinite daily cloud-play off Glassy faced behemoths.
Every ripple sparks diamond waves.
And sometimes
this place doesn't seem so bleak.

There is nothing like a sunny day in the month of June,
to chase away some gloom.

Time drips slowly down kitchen cabinets
Like cello music, sweet and dark,
Spilling over the edges of fingerboards and eyelashes,
Arpeggios of stillness cascading through the
Silence that is really music reigning the gaps between each whisper of breath and tick of the clock and soft drumming of raindrops on the street, an ensemble of intimacy.
I love it here.
I love the way it's vulnerable and honest inside your walls of false, forte confidence;
There are no cliché expressions of love at first sight, just the words of your heart,
Like notes played on an old piano, each separate and round and the tiniest bit halting but beautiful nonetheless.
They are rough truths, a little out of tune and not in quite the right key,
But they are the truth,
And that strikes more chords in my heart than a perfect rendition of well-rehearsed Beethoven harmonies
Fitting too perfectly to my rhythms.
And the cadence of your laugher flutters in my rib cage like
Triple-tongued fanfares,
The brush of your fingertips on mine
Sending vibratos of warmth through my soul,  
Yours eyes, honey brown, speaking as powerfully as a Stradivarius
Without even the smallest pianissimo whisper of voice,
My synapses firing in double-time, heart thumping adagio, allegro, presto,
Neither of us conducting, just riding out the jazz and operas and fiddles and symphonies of our love
I wish for books of blank pages to keep composing the
New melody of our lips, dancing along crescendos of
Instinct and softly thrilling secrets
On the gentle sonata of a rainy day in June.

I cannot stand to feel because my ocean heart suddenly comes to life beneath the full moon of someone to love. My blood changes, my skin changes, my life becomes a series of goosebumps and the swallowing back of the urge to cry. Alone, I am a strong wall whom very few can climb; but those who make it within my fort make me paranoid my stones are crumbling to pieces. I love to fall in love with every waking moment of someone’s existence, and to know what it is like to touch God’s face because it’s when I’m touching his. But I hate the monster it wakes within me, one scarred and scared that this one, too, will climb in only to walk away, leaving only ruins of what once stood so proud. This time, I am different; my whole fell apart, leaving me to resurrect the foundations and start all over. I have built myself back up, growing towards sunlight like a plant, my pride growing brick by brick, so sure I was leaving the beasts behind. But a higher wall, rather than making me stronger, has left me looking down at a much larger possible fall from grace. I’m so aware of my own ridiculousness that my shortness of breath feels like I’m drowning in frivolity, and when I step outside of myself and look back in, I know I am merely an old man in a bomb shelter waiting for a disaster that may never come. But it all feels so real when I am with him, that I feel stuck in this what-if nightmare fantasy when I am not. It’s been so short a time, I can hardly believe how wrapped up I am in my own thoughts, how much my fingers bled as I wrote this, how hard I had to try to remember who I was just a few days ago. I am a strong wall, but I am scared shitless.

you are the rain in june,
it’s funny how lovely
a nuissance can be.

Quarter moons

Won’t ever be the same

Since the night we kissed

Under the moonlight rays.

It’s no longer just a half moon phase

It’s half of my heart that I gave away.