don’t tell me “I love you” ~by Roxanne, for Cyrano~

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that’s a verse I’ve heard many too times before,
that’s a curse of low majesty, a quatrain too plain,
if that’s your best sally, retreat, say no more,
too simp verses, or ungolden silences, agents of dissatisfying pain

I need the best of your taste
the finest visions that you eyelids occlude,
make haste for my mouth grows exceedingly
impatient for the other senses to do their tandem wooing

slap only my face with the creature comforts others savor,
words of diamonds and pink pearls mined from your breast,
the bejeweled words that will decorate my evergreen,
that never dies, lest, unless and until,
you want my mortal affection suppressed

give me your linguistic promiscuity, wake me from the stupor
of ordinary, arouse me with thy tongue coiling, a bee sting delivery,
a wet poem that makes all my orifices!|offices weep, your mouth,
my souls recouper,
your wizardry bewitching,
answer my inquiry with unbounded festivity

then and after all, the plain simplicity of an “I love you,”
will be edged with sublimity, my mercies, your mercies
our jointed, sharp pointy, introverting, interlocking,
our futures becoming
our pasts

11:07am
19-9-30

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just as the soft breeze
carries a falling seed 
of the maple tree
to a distant place 
with the sun's warmth 
and a gentle rain 
life sprouts anew
just as love's seed
opens in our hearts

In the whispers of earliest morning
and the scurrying tones of nightfall
my mind lies open, vulnerable
like dark flowers cusping spring

With probing eyes, full and brown
I see that which I can realize
yet not realizing what must be seen
that which lies beyond my ocular reach

And with utmost effort, sinking innards
I toil with feelings buried inwards
dissected and magnified
preserved and studied under the light

my heart’s so fragile;
i’m afraid to give it away,

all that’s left of me is
a sarcastic personality,
and even that is
starting to fade.