This is no lower pleasure
and while purely physical and only ever fleeting,
i do not mind.
i like the raindrops on my face and the heavy green canopy above my head,
thriving.
i like the wild lightness of being small somewhere big,
and i like your eyes when they meet mine , and i catch glimpses of your soul -
candid, and spectacular.
i enjoy the tactile pleasure of tree-bark beneath my fingertips and your fingertips upon my skin
i like the sound of words as they leave our lips and hang in the air between us
i like the comfort i feel, wrapped up in her many wooden arms
and i like to sit amongst her bones and feel her presence as my own
soaking me in new understanding.
a simple clarity , as i cease to race the universe
for i understand her now,
and i hope that she doesn't stop raining.

You cling to misery
like it's your birthright
and i marvel
at your lack of love,
pulsating
and bright
against my ability to pretend
as i stand in the corridor
between our minds -
waiting
for change.

You pose
as some kind of monster,
and i think you want to be something
darker
than you really are,
some doomed character
of a bleak poem.
but you're not
that bad.
Perhaps, you're as
average
as the rest of us,
or perhaps
the rest of us
are just
as doomed
as you.