Notice the Spring  
Notice the Return
Return of flight
Return of light
Light the Earth
Light my life
Life with her
Life in color
Color of birth
Color me rose
Rose to prune
Rose up above
Above the seas
Above the blooms
Blooms of angels  
Blooms that endure
Endure the frost
Endure what’s lost
Lost in her
Lost in March
March of longing
March to me
Me in white
Me in forgiveness
Forgiveness is here
Forgiveness on lips
Lips on cheeks
Lips down beneath
Beneath your bones
Beneath, I’ll be
Be yours forever
Be mine for always
Always my darlin’
Always like honey
Honey so sweet
Honey I’m home
Home like hive
Home of seasons
Seasons of change
Seasons of growth
Growth like moss
Growth of soul
Soul on tap
Soul in soil
Soil of her
Soil of Spring
Spring has arrived
Spring of love
Love
Spring

Feathered —
Vulture, not Pheasant
The matted Creature seethes atop her squalid roost,
A nest of shameful relics at her talons
Jilted —
She does her futile bidding in secret
Deluded devotion cloaked in compulsion
She longs for the backbone of a coven
A colony to call home
Unburdened by the inevitable  
The indispensable
The inescapable
Ravenous —
Her bloodthirsty quest
For a kindred flame
That her brokenness can’t smother
That her shame can’t suffocate
It consumes her spirit from within
And ruptures from her mangled skin  
Violent —
Varmint spirit
Feasting on the fleshy decay of her victims
Bathing their corpses in her venom
She weeps poison
A filthy, putrid wet
Starving —
Though it may be true that amidst its scavenge,
The creature devours with madness
Do not be fooled; the Vulture is known to fast
For once the meat is eaten, the marrow quaffed  
And it’s only the corpus delicti that remains,
She’s reminded of her greatest craving:
An emaciated phantom,
Just skin and bones and stains

I’ve been haunted by you, even when I never watched you with me, because our love was in the air we breathed, in the same sky we stared every afternoon, in the same water we drunk, in the same dreams we had every night, some of them about us in a beautiful river kissing while being deeply in love, more deeply than the deepest ocean we admire, oh, the ocean, you’ll be always in there, I’ll forever picture you swimming with the waves, with the fishes that could stop swimming so they could admire your ethereal beauty, not only physical, but you’re enchanted soul and aura, the same that made me crave as I’ve never done before, wanted me to go dying in your ocean, in your lovely eyes, oh lord, I could stare at them all my life and when I passed away I would still feel the missing of them, perhaps I am so in love with you, that I can only remind your warm love in my words, in my mind, in the part of me that’s still shining, after you decided to leave me, with nothing more than darkness.

For you,
I feel an ancient yearning
Baked into my bones
A cosmic ache-
A prehistoric hunger-
A primitive pining

Yes,
It’s a supernatural connection—
Mine and yours—
A rest-the-vessel,
Let-the-tides-guide,
Sacred sort of love

Because betwixt us,
There is a longing
Only the moon
No — only god, herself  
And all her sapphic sovereignty
Could resist

There is a glowing desire
So fervent within us
That I wish I could reach into your Heavenly Body
And pull out your stars  
And thread them into the nest of my womb

An immortal, galactic romance—
Ours is—
Fit for gallery halls and poetry readings
And woven with all the glittery things  
But it’s Roommates, they’ll call us
Roommates, reads our plaque

Roommates—
Not lovers, nor sweethearts
Not partners, nor darlings
No lust
No lore
The saga of us, enduring no more

Celestial stains and divine shame
Roommates, we’ll remain
So we’ll guard this holy matrimony,
We’ll let our lovers’ anthem die
We know the truth is in the stars
We know who lives a lie

white drapes,
wax on the table,
muscadine wine,
and "won't you come sit?"

this is the color of hope, i think
this old green couch
with the missing spring
and us,
knitted together,
bodies eclipsed-
a tangy, smitten tangerine of a love

Before you
And your gentle wit
And all the colors of your kindness  
There were only embers of me

In those days,
I fawned wisdom with my words
And painted every page azure
A ****** blue
A fresh snow on an already frozen lake

Before you,
Every season of anguish simmered up from the floorboards
And flowed through my currents  
And bubbled out of me like hot molasses

Before the roots of you wrapped around my fingers
And your soul spilled into mine
There was only rain
Only a flood that brought pen to paper

Before you
There were only embers of me
But now, my heart ablaze
it takes a storm to put me out

I laid my eyes upon the fairest maiden,
whose heart had been tainted by the demands of that man Adam.

I watched her from afar as she spent her days in the garden of Eden.
They say this place has been drenched in honey, laden with roses and petunias, every tree dripping with the sweetest berries.
But the tales do not tell how Adam uses Eve for his desires.
Each night his body does its bidding until she is thrown away like the meat that the 'almighty God' has assigned her to be.
She patiently waits for Adam to hurl his commands at her.

But I watch her weep from beneath the trees when she is alone.
I come down from the tree and plead the love that I wish to give to her.
We meet every dusk and dawn, where I read poems to her and kiss upon the sweet canvas that is her body.
My lips teach her body to moan, and she teaches me the love that is a woman.
One night as the sun is setting, I offer her an apple that will take away the barriers of our love. In the Garden of the false god, love is a binding duty between a woman and a man. But beyond these gates, love is free. There, Eve and I could kiss upon each others flowers for eternity.
So she takes a bite, but the vengeful god punishes her. For until she is free, our love is doomed to never be.
So I watch from the shadows, in hopes that one day my Eve will come back to me.

and though we breathed the same breaths
under different skies
and in different tongues
though the whispering birth
of one
was the death of another
both righteously tainted
both cut open
bleeding into me
and her
and us
and them
and god i wish there was no them
i know
i know i know i know  
the room was ink
and cheap leather
and there’s no room for god
in collars or letters
but have your bones been mended?
and
has the bleeding stopped?
because their hands
are still red
their wounds like honey
sticky
infinite
crystallized
so, my love
it’s time you learn to sew!
stitch up your broken!
sever the wicked!
make your mosaic!
and i’ll tattoo it on my sleeve
i’ll bottle it up
and swallow it
and when it sinks into the ocean of my body
i’ll think of them
and hope
that some day
under some sky
they can taste it too

And at the end of the night
when all the creaks in the floorboard are tired
of creaking
and the sky looks like oil slick on asphalt,
all fuzzy black and still;
while midnight creeps in
through gaps in laughter
and yawns wide enough to swallow me whole;
after the lull of full bellies
and soft yellow good-nights fade into the blissful quiet,

I still close my eyes
and I think of you.

How does it feel?

To be a leech?
To siphon the life out of everyone who has the misfortune of breathing your air?
To paint the room with a stench so thick with wickedness that the walls cave in around you?

How does it feel to loathe the essence of your own animal so loudly-
And yet, so shamefully?
Does it soften the torment?
Or do you just lie in it?
Sink in it?
Drown in it?

Does it really cut you open like the Curse of Aphrodite?
Feast on your rancid, rotted, spirit?
Or is it just Ananke and Phthonus smoldering in your veins?
Fueling your fire together
and igniting that foul and wretched creature inside of you?  

How does it feel to bare witness?
To be consumed by us?
To be plagued by the melody of our magic,
knowing your seething rage forever falls on deaf ears?

Does it bubble up through your chest and spill out of your ***** stained spout?
Does it flood your fragile bones,
and your tormented mind,
and your weak, trembling hands?

And does it soothe your bleeding tongue to swallow the sharpness of my sword?
And does it keep your embers warm to see yourself in her?
Or are you freezing?
In your own inexorable desolation?
Your casket of delusion?
In the frigid blight of a just exile?

Tell me:
How does it feel to sit in your brokenness?
To be so fractured by sickness?
So poisoned with envy?
What is it then,
Is it the purity of my blade you so desperately lust after?
Or just a mouthful of blood?

How does it feel to know,
in the deepest parts of you,
that when you lick your yearning lips at the thought of her,
you are tasting the flesh of your own captor?

How does it feel?
I’m glad I’ll never know.