You buried me
Half the world away
And a lifetime ago

Yet you find me
In your every daydream
In every foreign touch
In every what if...

Almost...
But never quite

it is without guile or guilt

more a minor shock & swoosh,

that the power to please oneself

comes so easily without interference,

new and the familiar, a mixture of

stand alone, but jumbled, mumbling &

partying in concert, inflation inflicted

words within, falling out onto personal

plains of skin of human vegetation, into

human orifices to be tongue-tasted, be

drunk by ears open for sensuality, be

touched, fondled, pressed and creased

for storing in the bank of memory, by

irrigation of eye droplets falling from

all human’s white sight~gatherers, by

nostrils flaring, reddened by waves

of excitations and pleasured anticipations,

whenever your new combinations of

words intermingle me, a step closer to

a being, drinking in additions whole,

achieving a holier than previous

experience

I envy the rain,
for it can touch your pretty face,
trace your lips,
and rest upon your skin
ever so gently,
while I was never allowed
to touch you
as intimately as it does.

The feelings are all too familiar
Rough couches
Brown so bright it’s orange
So cold it burns
So soft it cuts my skin
I can’t recognize it
The feelings are all too familiar

How can I miss what I never held,
A voice unheard, a face unspelled?
Yet here I am, adrift, alone,
Yearning for someone i've never physically known.

No touch, no words, no fleeting glance,
No thread of fate, no twist of chance.
And yet you live within my chest,
A stranger known, a soul confessed.

I’ve traced your outline in my head,
In shadows vast, in stars up ahead.
Each spark a thread that pulls me near
To something missed, yet never here.

Oh, saudade, bittersweet refrain,
You carve my heart, yet ease the pain.
For even in your shapeless void,
A hope persists, a dream employed.

So, to the you I might never see,
A part of me still sets you free.
To live, to love, to softly be,
The missing half of all I need.

In darkness, a church
of carved Baroque stone
catches me walking
unawares and alone.

Two stone hands reach out
from the church outer wall.
A gesture of blessing
or a prayer for us all

in stony carved silence
that echoes the voice
of a God we can’t hear,
who stays quiet — by choice?

Just when we need
to hear they’re right here,
they feel like a veiled cloud
that is more distant than near.

Still these outstretched hands
remind me of this:
Divine’s in the touch
of human hands’ godlike gift.

i relate in body parts,
because my words fall short of hearts.

i relate, in knowing we both have twelve pairs of ribs,
the same way you and i have the curve to our hips.

i relate, in knowing your ulna runs down my radius,
the same way my thumb runs down your humerus.

i relate, in knowing how our teeth align,
the same way you compliment my design.

so i nest my mandibula,
in the crevice of your scapula,
set my rhythm to the countdown of your vertebra.

i relate, in knowing a pair of lips doesn't make two,
not unless they meet as me and you.