I used to be a mind reader
  but I gave it up
No longer feel the need to know
  what’s really being thought

With me you share
  the weight of your heart
and the flight of your soul

No need to pre-think
  what you think
because you tell me all

I'll never see my age times two
Which means I'm more than half way through
This beautiful life I've built with you

The alarm got us up before the sun fully awoke
we pulled our sleepy bodies out of bed
got on our grungies not even fixing coffee yet,
got our gear together in the pickup
and headed for the peninsula
where we hoped the sand bass would be schooling,
searching for some breakfast of worms or flashy things that looked to them like food.
If we were lucky we hooked a few which we would cook later
or save for the freezers back home.

When we got back to the campground
we’d comb our hair brush our teeth and head into town
for Pat’s Cafe who served the best biscuits, eggs, hashbrowns, and pancakes in the region
and if we were lucky Pat herself with her long black hair and **** lips
and substantial hips
would stop by and in her Texas twang and charm
she’d tell us about their farm
we’d speak of our wives
and some of the small details of our lives
and how we loved that large beautiful body
that sparkled and sang to us each spring
and how we savored dipping into Lake Whitney.

In late afternoon we would laze about the RV
discussing Theilhard and Jesus and Charlie
he’d speak of Bob Wills and we’d share
trying to make sense of the spirits there
and how they made us leap and soar.
We spoke in sync and explored
lines of novels, and fascinating texts
that made us eager to discover what was next
that would make us laugh or shed tears
of all those memorable years
we’d been brothers
afloat of the same waters
becoming men who hoped to make their mark
spark something good in the minds
of other seekers who also drank wines
fermented in corridors of learning
who had the same yearning
for knowledge and truth
embedded early and deeply in our youth.

I don't preach, I'm going my own way
Not really, because where I go is already a way
I don't preach, I have mixed feelings
about what I know. I'm not near-sighted

I don't preach, I cast anchors, thousands
of buoys everywhere in the sea for those
who want to rest in familiar words
and want to be human together

Happy, then happy together
Sad, then sad together
Tired, then strong together
Alone, then not alone

Sharing is caring. Sharing love is daring. So is staring into the eyes of the one you love. Blaring heartbeat, whether girls or guys, below or above the thighs determines lust or love. Either way gets you high flying like a dove when I try to contemplate whether it's lie or love. Love repeated and used to rhyme with itself, cause each love is different, like you're a **** or ****, or no mom or no dad, no parents to teach you about the love you never had, here comes the guilt, tho you did nothing bad, the word "sorry" was spilt, out the mouth now I'm mad, put my mind at a tilt... confusion. Anxious love intrusion, I can feel our bodies fusing, must be looking for a bruising, she really had that clever rusing, smoked a blunt, then I'm puking, hole in one, not trying punt, so she's accusing me of cheating, like I would see someone else, while shes bleeding cause she fell, so deep in love, and always needing, a push or a shove, so there's receding instead of a clingy human melting onto me, is this really love?

Each time I notice
Small changes in your life
I keep them to myself

You know your smartphone
has a new ring
I don’t need to tell you

Your hair has a different tint
If I mention it
Your will ask me
Do you like it

And I would have to say
How much I love and care
About you and all that you are
Even if I don’t like your
New hair tint
And, by the way
The new phone ring —
Irritating

Daylight shades
paint the frames
and Instagram pages
with beautiful smiles
and short blond locks
that look out at
the world with
a certain
curiousness.
Snapshot moments
of social projections
pushed out onto
the internet
so strangers
can view
those small lies,
because
these pictures
do not know
or show
a quarter of
the truth.

Behind the
staged displays
of fun and cosplay
there are
dark shadows
with deep corners
where broken hearts
bleed clutching
their bruised wrists
and split lips.
Where blood drips
on the cracked tip
of the kitchen
counter top.

There are
repeated rapes,
cruelty and denial,
honesty rejected,
and despairing.
There is
a sense of
resignation
to not let this
invasion
define her life.

There is abandonment
from those who should have
safe guarded
her pulsar heart,
there is
injustice,
and while
the darkness
has not swallowed
her soul whole
yet,
she still finds time
to give light  
to a friend
who was trying to lend
a compassionate ear
to her.

These photos
do not dare
to chart the depths
seldom shared,
or explore more
then mere outward
pleasantries.

There is so much
left to see, hear,
and hold dear,
deep conversation,
neuroscience
and psychology
discussion
that are enlightening,

so much more
then mere flesh,
or hastened breathed
burnt by
desirous men
and their
unwanted intrusions.

There is dark art
and a heart yearning
for the burning
of an honest
and caring love,
one that runs
from safe fields
searching desperately
for the person they need
to protect
because to do otherwise
would destroy their life.

These photographs
are little lies
that we put out in the world,
smiles that hide
possible fast
or very slow
suicides,
especially if
there is
no one
ever around
to ask
“Are you ok?”
and if not
then to ask
“why?”

Flower to my eyes;
Invisible to yours.
Excitement I yearn to share;
Your countenance is indifferent.
I don’t understand why
But you’re not the one
To tell me.