laying with blue skies
in your hair
earthy reddened clay
across your cheeks
the river in your
shoulder blades
smokey fires blooming
from your thighs
solid mountains holding
your ankles together.

You stand and smile at me from across the street
so I pray to Gaia
to be a mistake you can’t help but repeat.

Times may be tough,
The rain might feel rough,
But the feeling you give me beats it all.

Clouds may be gray,
No sun in the day,
But with a future with you I stand tall.

Money might be tight,
Nothing going right,
But with you it could never be wrong.

Days might drag,
Sore bones make us lag,
But for you.. I will always long.

We might feel the stress,
With everything being such a mess,
But I cant imagine life without you.

When my world is crashing down,
And I feel like I might drown,
You are my rock and I hope I am yours too.

I understand pain can be found worldwide,
And pain can teach us things in life that can be applied,
To love and relationships alongside,
The fact that she has me feeling like Mr. Brightside,
What's the lesson I'm supposed to learn here,
To be strong, secure, solid, stable, and preserver,
I would rather trash feelings and disappear,
Getting right up and out of this putrid atmosphere,
Kiss me when you're high, love me when you're sober,
Reject me when you're sober, then crap, it's all over,
I can't portray reality like Donald Glover,
And I can't make you feel better in this month of October,
Getting with you would be like finding a four-leaf clover,
But I'll continue writing until I get a lot older.

Arrested.
A Windsor knot
binds my
fickle neck
to my dour
shoulders.
Plastic ties
elegant wrists
in pair.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me redemption
or else,
how can I ignore it?

One bedroom.
An eager clock,
minutes
from my set,
or expected
The End,
happily
leaves me to my
routine.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me freedom
or else,
how can I ignore it?

Can I really be who I want?
Can I really be what I mean?

Will I ever solidify?
Will I ever come to?

And who will come?

(. . .)

My feet of sheetrock
knees and bones
stick and stone

Thighs of mica
calf of plaster
flint skin

I chuckle gleefully in buns of steel
and fiercely beat a sediment chest
with the face of a mesa and obsidian ribs
I see through tides of frozen lids

the shape of fire is the shape of orange
the orange of fire is the shape of shape
the form of the form is a constellation
upon which cosmos dangle over
flames upon which flames dance and
upon which smoke creeps and
where candles bloom into bouquets of
melted red and white wax but
it remains marbled, not pink yet
simple addition crumbles apart:
add red and yellow and mix
all you want but they will remain
separate, swirled but separate;
the color orange is the color of candles
the candles of orange is the color color.

in the icy swirl
          of deep-inhale
            I reach down inside
                      to darkest
       heated flesh-fabric
removing the clothing
of my soul,
feeling the layers
                slowly  undone
                      the flay
                        of my own fleece
                          the peeling
                    of my own pelt
            penetrating
                through tissue,
                     a journey to the
                          deep heart of me,
                         cut in one clean move
                         and yet, like a miracle
                  there is
             no pain
                   just magnet-connect
                     beyond the cusp
                            of words
                              that curl from our
                                             tongues
                                      rising up in
                      latticed affirmations
                    a cleansing in frost
a constant, aquamarine renewal
and there is no past
no future
      just this prism
           of crystal liquid jewels
      flowing in
gentle,
         cellular music
             straight into the strands        
                    of our veins
and I miss you
like you have gone
on the long winter hunt
my longing splayed out
like an animal skin on
                    four poles
its tendons stretched
beyond measure
yet holding fast
with a roof over my head,
                    I acknowledge
             my restlessness
I am my own
       hunter-forager,
         both searching and found,
                     gathering up bits  
               of velocity
stroking the ribbons
of passion
stoking the fires of my
              heart and hearth
protecting what is us
like a lioness
for we are overflowing
with both strength
         and tenderness
              our own bones
ingredients of the wild soup              
of our feral union
of our constant rebirth
our very dna
          weaving itself
like heartstrings
               in the rush      
of
       time