It can be a good thing
when lightning,
when lightning
strikes
in two places
at the same time...
it's rather electric...
mutual...
quite titillating
I think.

I love women who
are legitimate badasses.
The ones who can hang glide
into any night club,
belly up to the bar
and order two sets
of double tequila shots,
then flip off the bouncer,
and drive all the way
home,
backwards
with their eyes shut.
I've only met one,
she had black eyes.
Nope,
not the skin
surrounding them,
but the irises.

O Sweetness,
harken Dear Angel...
have a seat,
lower yourself
onto your throne,
your sacred place
above me.
O how nice
your Royal Highness!
Let me view
your full majesty,
let me glisten
with your royalty,
come inside
your splendor.
O my delicious Queen,
you are supreme!

I love the surf at night,
the ebb,
the flow
of mountainous waves,
the tumbling,
the wet sounds
of pure
raw nature,
the relentless pounding
of the Earth.
So every chance I get,
I walk the lonely shoreline
under the cloak of darkness,
God's tiny,
sparkling lanterns,
just to be,
just to be
one with the ocean,
the Goddess of all eternity,
so beautiful
she is
so fine.

I was told to never
whistle at night,
for it called
back to life
the dead ones
and they'd be ******
for the awakening.
So now,
I push tunes
through my lips
only in the daytime.
The last thing
I want to do
is make dead people angry.
I'm haunted enough
by the living.

We'd play
Dungeons and Dragons
for hours
in the bunker at night.
We all had special powers.
Some of them worked,
some didn't.
I miss those guys.
I wore a cloak of invisibility
so I could
come
back home
to write about it.
(I Thank God,
my cloak
& my lucky stars.)

I have no remorse,
but if I did,
it would be
the kind
felt between
the tectonic plates.
For I have no control
over shifts
in the great creation,
this place
we call home.

Sweet melodies
swirl around me
like nag champa
in my stronghold,
this sacred place,
keeping me serene,
under the glow-stars
which never twinkle.

She walks along the silver strand
singing a song of love,
her arms wide open,
her hands waving
to the coming tides,
she is stellar.
And deep inside,
she hides
the greater mysteries
of the depths,
the ebb,
the flow of her heart
that nobody truly knows,
save the sirens
keeping her secrets safe.
And now she stares out,
out toward
the tempest seas,
crying no more
for the lost mariners
of her beautiful dreams...
her eyes are
the sharpest-azure,
& her ***** still
holds
the purest heart.