Awake, awake, my Lyre!
And tell thy silent master’s humble tale
In sounds that may prevail;
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire:
Though so exalted she
And I so lowly be
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.

Hark, how the strings awake!
And, though the moving hand approach not near,
Themselves with awful fear
A kind of numerous trembling make.
Now all thy forces try;
Now all thy charms apply;
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye.

Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure
Is useless here, since thou art only found
To cure, but not to wound,
And she to wound, but not to cure,
Too weak too wilt thou prove
My passion to remove;
Physic to other ills, thou’rt nourishment to love.

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre!
For thou canst never tell my humble tale
In sounds that will prevail,
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire;
All thy vain mirth lay by,
Bid thy strings silent lie,
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die.

So I can not be in denial anymore. I wanted the memory
of romance to come
out to warm me with its warm cloak. Instead
that which is the truth of hearts speak
loud
vibrating - echoeing -
as a surrender to
the air.

my heart strings
played - an outburst
of the melody that holds
our bodies as one.

Live a strong way -
a long way - a way
of love that takes
centuries to burn down.

Maybe these are high ideals?
I don't know.
Most of the time I just try to
Breathe -

and let the wind
       take me
       as its sister -

chasing me with
its cool wave
of magic.

a new day, sweet like
fresh love, radiating lust
abundant of yellow

Distraction
it is the piece in the part
of the heart
holding dear

Fine lines of disgrace
mental pleas to
the disease are
starry eyed
beliefs

Dream encounters
choice remainders
final songs
strewn out in mad
lyrics

Played once again
tempting, toying
with my sanity

curses

Rants, moans
tried and true fantasy
held in this earth
bountiful to its remorse

Staring out windows girth
snow piling
cold encumbering limbs
and stretched faces

Laden by the droughts
of heart sunken
soul bitten and
strung out glee

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.