They say your body is a temple
but does that include the ones that are just a walking shell
scars and scabs
the ones that are a shaky skeleton
wavering back and forth while looking in the mirror
the ones that you think can blow away in the wind
the bodies that are unrecognizable
My temple is more of a ruin
A story of what used to lie
an open page with indescribable hieroglyphics
Nothing lasts forever

-

How do I put this delicately?
If my bodies a temple, defile me

With hands that grasp so gently
And teeth that graze so menacingly

Don't hold back, I beg of thee
Love me, love me, love me

Lay with me,
Sweet Poetry.

I prostrate myself
atop your holy temple,
amassing desperate yearning kisses
down your strong-legged pillars.

Weaving in and out of your corridors,
through the garden, your hair falling around me
like roots, like falling leaves--

But I dare not enter your hallowed chambers.

I am a ******, Sweet Poetry.

I have sauntered through the courtyard,
never the courts,
I have tread in the waters of your fountain,
never submerged in your bath,
I've danced around the holy fire,
but never touched my flesh to the healing flame.

Are the walls to your inner sanctum made of concrete,
or something impalpable?
My mind can play ***** tricks,
flagellating a million reasons why our love is for naught,
and why my body should shrivel and fade away before you.

I am a ******, Poetry,
and what love and demons I have in reserve,
I lay at your feet.

I'll linger if you'll stay,
sleeping sound at your side,
your breath on my skin,
your body warm against my shivering frame.

Pluck the maiden fruit from my aching tree,
lay with me,
Sweet Poetry.

for years I searched for new paths
  as if the only thing that really mattered
    was to get elsewhere as soon as possible

this shoreless thirst connects
    my little matter
                           with my oceans of dream

           everything breathes solvability

     and my mind creeps up
      only those walls that
          I cannot handle
      and lurks like an owl
       through your woods

over here you don't drink coffee
without some liquor

the temple was built
for naked dancers

and this love is my resource

my resource for some divinity

The ether’d suggested,
          “Say something.”
                    I didn’t.

The photos bombarded,
          “Say something.”
                    And I didn’t once more.

His widow plead, cried,
          “Say something”
                    I couldn’t.

One daughter begged,
          “Remember?
                    And I couldn’t once more.

But I bought a cake,
           “Daddy?”
                    Lit the candles,
                              “Daddy?”
                 ­                       And he didn’t;
                                                  And he wouldn’t
                                       Answer,
Because I never did.

Our bed is the prayer rug where I found God.

Yeah, THE God –

Not circumnavigating morality
Or bones of old saints
Lonely illusions of the sad and middle-aged
All Fat Tuesday freakshows in comparison

Our bed is the altar of sacred rites –

Marked with the devil’s ******* Sharpie
And the intricately crocheted lace of sin
Nightly baptized in warm, honey-coated nothing
Pink patterns of iron and salt on linen

Painted idols on the shrine –

Absolution pours through drafty windows
Older than our bodies
Glass frosted by years without suds
Only rain

A holy city of yours and mine –

With gentle pyro ways
Stone and mortar become flame
The balustrades collapse
You light candlewicks with your fingertips

What a wonderful place
       The temple is
Where poor begging outside
               and
Rich inside

Between the third rock and a hard place,
we spark in a dark space
where the heart quakes
and "smart" makes man
exclusive to a fault.
The ego locked the answers
to our freedom in the vault.
After wars were fought,
people and thoughts were bought.
The devil lost,
running up the score would cost
the well being of the land.
Hard to to see the meaning
even through the short spans
but over time we understand.
In order to reprimand
before we judge, we must demand
that we give ourselves as much love
and acceptance as we can.
For space is just a portion of never-ending expansion,
don't forget to praise the lord of your own planet.