It's painful to revisit you,
You pull on my mind and make me quiver.

Shivering in a cold dark room-
Alone
With you.

Is it blood or birth?
Too dark to tell.
Is it heathenism or hope?
Too dark to tell.
Is it faith or freedom?
Too dark to tell.

The night is now
Too dark to tell.
In the trenches, we dig
Our graves of friendship.

In total,
I think I know nothing
                           Of you.
In part,
I think I know all
                  Of you.
Together,
I think is where I’ll start
                          With you.

”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To a child who only knows life
And distant lessons of death.
A boy learning to builds walls
Out of plastic bricks—
Defending against feelings.

”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To the one who falls asleep
Next to the voiceless dog
As it's quiet breath whispers
Instinct and unknowing—
Young ears open to all things.

”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To the son who knows no difference.
Climbing to the tendriled top
Of his trusted tree friend.
Swaying in what was real—
Falling and the warm Midwest wind.

It was a whiskey night—
All nights were at this point.
It was the closest thing
He could bring to his lips
That even remotely felt like her.

As the sky turned from pink to black,
So did his thoughts.
As he drained the last glass,
He chased her into his dreams.

He pressed his nose up to a mirror—
No matter how close he got,
He still only saw who he could be.

He peered into a magnifying glass—
Looking longingly at his hands,
He still only saw who he wasn't holding.

I think of your breath,
As it would have sounded,
Grasping sterilized air, as you emerged.

The way it sounded in a crib,
An infantile gasp,
Facedown, not yet knowing how to sleep.

Short disgruntled huffs,
Learning to say so much with no words
As you pouted in petty defiance.

Hard panting in the gym,
As the teacher pushed the limits
Of your strong slender core.

I think of your breath,
The way it trails behind
Each pitch-perfect-note you sing.

As your hands shook
And your words left you alone,
Grasping anxiously at wind.

Like a message in a capped bottle,
The way your lungs expand
With breath that contemplates tender words.

The thick sweet moisture
That filled our paper-thin distance,
The first time you shared your lips.

I think of your breath,
As you sleep, with thoughts
Wild and unknown to me.

The tickling whisper
Of secret air shared
As you invite me in.

The hard and heavy sigh
That looms in the living room
When your day beats you down.

A trumpet of surprised sound
As laughter congregates,
Demanding you to inhale.

I think of your breath,
How familiar it will be  
When we are bed bound with our air tanks.

I will embark
To share, in part,
The wonder of the moon.

Their dark side there
And just as fair,
Is forgotten in their light.  

Their shining face
Holds the gaze
Of wanderers alike.

But as for me,
I dare to see,
The beauty of their dark side.

We can make love
Or talk about you
Whatever you want to do
My time is yours
My body is too
To touch and soothe
Or to hold my tongue