The Deerfield keeps me. My eyes follow the treeline testing my wit, tossing new exemplary corybantic lights. They zoom around me in hurried whirling motion. Then you appear. You can have my moon and my planets, my stars, and I haven't even spoken yet. In the midst of an earnest offering to the first of three heavy drinking boisterous uneasy types. I tell the stranger I'll drive him the, but what- .2 miles to his home- and your light exaserbates my speech.

Maybe you thought I'd go for your nose, but I'm after your breath. Rightly so, too many men have squandered much of the joy from being superfluously strangely with strangers. The drunk party exits screen left, and a new character, a Kennedy evolves from the shadows.

[This is where you begin conducting]

My thoughts brim with colors, patterns, shades, and hues. I paused to take in these profound chakras I thought had become the desiccate dusty footprints, walking around Foley's pond trying to find the best fishing hole through the rough and tangled undergrowth that consumed those hours of my life.

Your writing is far better than mine was at your age.
There is depth and richness in the vocabulary you choose.
Let me kidnap you for a day, present you with the places I like to let
My eyes gaze upon. Between the thatchwork of black and white and gray.

Where are my hands? The Earth is at my back, she begs me
To pry further, to know better the rejuvenating handy-work she
Has laid before me, and the noncom I mustn't reject either.

I cannot sleep. I wouldn't want to sleep if I could. I would reject it as I am. Drive until daylight casts morning into memory, I would recreate another
Fifty of exceptionally raw and indulgent exchanges. This is before the questions begin.

I inquiry myself to draw your story through the sparseness of details I ferociously gobbled up with excitement and profound wonder. I am absent in my own hours, and  yet there is frothy balance, no bedevilments of the flesh, but even so we are only the skin and bone and makings of human. I commit to protect you from harm and show you beauty and humor amidst the chaos and crisis of life's evolution. It is your excruciating curiosity and lack of fear that draws me ever more near.

Dearest Blue,
I know you may need time to recover, to think about what I said.
I understand your predicament, I think.
It came as a shock to your system, I'm sure.
And I don't blame you.
Have you responded? I don't know.
My phone has died, and I have since lost track of it.
But what I've said, I'll say again:

I like you. And I'm sorry.

Sincerely, Deni.

little love letters
emanate through fingertips
and soft kissing lips

i fell for the drummer
hes pretty cute
and, quite ironically, meeting you on my birthday
granted my wish
not even knowing who your band was or why you were here didn't matter once you started playing
after your set a girl and I got your number
you seemed so cool and my hands were so sweaty and hot that if we touched,  I don't know if I would've frozen or if you would've melted.
I guess she didn't want to text you as much as I did
but I'm kinda happy about that

we're pretty good friends now
and I guess you could say that things are going well between us
but, like a greedy child at christmas, I want more.

I really like the way your hair feels when I run my fingers through it
and when I hear your laugh, I feel the need to grab onto you, because if I don't, I will spiral into space, content with the thought of your happiness.
our conversations usually consist of 5 word sentences spread out throughout the day but honestly, I just love to see your responses

that day you gave me your number, I never really thought it would amount to anything
probably a response back to thank me for coming to the show, and that you're happy I enjoyed it
but when we started to have actual conversations
and you remembered my name the next time you saw me
i was back at square one,
hot, sweaty palms and all
shaking so hard that Taylor Swift would be proud.

but now when I see you,
its almost as if my equilibrium has balanced.
I'm comfortable around you
I see no reason to tremble in your presence
(even though that laugh still gets me).
and even though you are probably thinking that I'm just some girl who goes to your shows
I wish to be so much more.

the letter said
"yours forever and ever and ever,
Alex"

your eyes said
"you are the lens through which I see everything"

that is significant
to know that I have gathered
(like raspberries in a basket)
that many portions of

your heart

said I can unzip the veins
and slip quietly into its chamber
whenever it rains
(a snug little sleeping bag for my loneliness)

a soul is a living, breathing thing,
always growing back

(when the rains are over,
there will be more raspberries
you will offer them to me)

come May,

"you'll have all that I can possibly give,
forever."

I wrote you one thousand love letters,
But only a few were right.
I poured everything I had into them in the hopes that my pen marks would bleed through
and etch my words on to your heart.

And I know where you kept them all tucked away.
I imagined you sneaking looks at them
in late hours of the night
so you could read them silently in my voice and pretend I was there
as I did with yours.
I noted every curve of your penmanship
And memorized how you wrote as if it were a dying language.

But then you stopped looking at my notes.
The ink faded and my love was no longer legible to you.
As your words still resonated in me, mine fled from you.
And the words became sharp and venomous    
They hit me in the gut and i spit fire back because it was all I knew how to do.
And I am sorry.

While we may never again exchange folded papers filled with secrets and sweet nothings,
I hope some day you find yourself late at night
reading my love letters
you never threw away.

Poetry is meant to be felt
Not just read

How?
With every little breath while sleeping on my lap

Did you manage the feat of creating every love poem
Ive written & read..
To be All about you?

is it fitting
That on " national love letter day", I write my first to you?

I have written about you since we met.
But this, mi amo, is the first directly to you.

I had never shared my writings before you
I still have them in a notebook full of emotion
Locked with the same key that buckled my heart.
But you hold it now. So you hold them as well.

You are my first in so many things.
So I only hope I can be your first in a few.

I stand before you exposed, enchanted,
and enveloped in your love.

I have a habit of writing.
I leave notes
song names
numbers
written everywhere...

Now,
Starting today
I'm writing something worth much more.
Little tokens.
For you.
To keep.

I'm writing you notes, poems, letters.
All about you
for you
explaining my adoration
and pure addiction to you

Here is the first of many...


I cannot wait till I can wake up quietly,
roll over to see you
ease out of bed
and leave you notes on my pillow where my head was resting
" I am out running for your (French vanilla, cream and sugar) coffee and getting you chocolate frosted donuts, be back soon my love"

Here is to you baby.
Here is to the notes I've yet to leave
Here is to the letters I have yet to write
The poems yet to share.

Here is to you...
Because they are all yours.

Here is to the first of many.
My love...
All my letters are yours.

My Darling, My Dearest
I sink to the dirt,
My regrets swirl around my body like a brides wedding dress.
White lace, virginal unsoiled regrets lay about me lazily-
biting my ankle, scratching up my legs to be held.
My Cherished Treasure,
I will carry my torment like an old man carries his walking stick
Gnarled with time and miles,
before any step I will take-
My regret will mark the path.
And I will walk for all of time with my walking stick. I will walk until I bend over in a broken bridge of bones, all the while letting my regret lead me onward.
My Beloved,
I will wallow in the mud of my sorrows and grief
I will roll and dry, caking dirt on my belly-
like the beast I have become.
My Beautiful,
The wounds that mortification of the flesh will produce-
will be sorry attempts to understand your pain.
The whip braided in tight thick leather
but I can never cut deep so I might
produce enough depth so instead will I bleed-
another sin, another crime!
I cannot feel your suffering-can only guess at the depth.
Oh the endlessly black waters of your sorrow!
I hold my breath, stones piled deep in my pockets.
I dive, I dive...wanting, needing this sacrifice.
But **** this survivalist in me. My lungs betray me-
sputter and cough.
I inhale my water of my sins and breathe them deep so I may drown and
free you from the shackles of my crimes.
My Cherished one, my Shining one-
Forgive this old sinner, forgive this reprobate heart.
For I love you.
When the stars exploded, when universes expanded
I loved you.
When the first blade of grass poked it's willful head above soil,
I loved you.
When first Adam kissed Eve,
I already loved you.
In the next life where you are caterpillar and
I am stump,
I love you then too, and beg you use me to reach closer the sun.
Forgive a fool his foolish ways, he knows no better
Forgive me, cherished one
and let me love you,
Let me love you as the faulted love the Divine. As the sinner loves the penance, as the child loves the stars.
Let me give you the moon, let me put it in on your lips.
So you may kiss the moon, beloved, kiss the moon.

Sahn 7/6/14

Sometimes silence is preferred
To those constant constricting string of compliments  
Written in your words and thrown off your tongue
With careless heed of the damage that they do
Irrevocable words of the lies of love and lust
Drip drip dripping down from your lips
To fall simultaneously in hearts and in the gutter
Where ******* collects and rains pour down
Eradicating all trace, but for the heart in which it kindled
No recognition from lips whose secret they once held
Now long forgotten and poorly remembered;
Lacklustre speech trailed and its meaning dismembered
Ill-gotten feelings poorly deceived when hopefully conceived  
From the deceptions which derided and descended
From lips once bloodied; now full of false testament.