Salty air kisses my face in the darkness of the night
only the distant flashes of light
make the waves glow, the illumination of a calm moon nowhere in sight
the early autumn air rushes across my exposed skin
the lapping of the waves, mesmerizing pulls me in
warmth of a running engine purring under my feet
the cold metal roof becomes my seat
the black backdrop of the sky my ceiling
chilled hands feeling the light raindrops running over my palms
peaceful, unnervingly calm
as the storm rages on
every bolt of lightning unique and spontaneous
struggling to find something in my life that pertains to this
humbling feeling of isolation and solitude
i'd love to say i thought of you
as the low thunder rumbled seeming to run across the sea
to these very feet
but i'd be a liar and you'd feel significant
we were simply flashes of lightning, nothing different
blazing a night sky with our spectacular glow and intensity
flashes of memories
never striking in sync or together
i never understood the weather better
then how well i feel it at this moment
i was lightning in a bottle, you were never meant to hold it....

The absence resonated pure and true
the way it swept over you
distance was a state of mind
miles were merely lines
sketched across a map, tracing directions from you to me
ink now filling the gaps were we used to be
lines non-discriminantly cutting towns in half
as we chart and graph
every possible angle to reunite
bicker and fight
over the most plausible neutral ground
eyes feverishly searching a map, with no home found
the absence is my companion, the only constant that remains
fidgeting hands writing your name
again and again
until the ink from this pen
becomes strewn across the lines of latitude and longitude
that originally created the thoughts of you
your hands slowly fade from my memory, the empty sheets engulfing me seem to take your place night after night
the absence turns out the lights
forces these wandering eyes to rest once more
perhaps time was our deficiency, unrelenting the clock runs without pause
as we pick apart the flaws
that chip away at the building blocks of a life's base
I only feel the shortages and absences when I struggle to recall your face
your voice now just an echo, drowned out by the daily clamor
the incessant ticking of a timepiece only silenced with the hammer
breaking the reminders that your lack of presence eats away at me over time
I sit silently in the confines of my own mind
tracing and erasing lines
all leading back to a memory of your face
the absence merely resonates within me, echoing in the empty space...

In the empty night I long to hold you until I've recognized every subtle movement of the beating heart within your warm chest
I want to count the seconds between your breaths
feel your lungs expand and compress
whenever my hands wrap around you tight
I want to see the light
in your eyes
rise and subside
as the changing of tides
when my eyes set onto yours
I want the floor
to disappear beneath my feet
every time you speak
I want you down to your very essence
In the empty night I crave your presence...

The innate understanding we were a fragment of a memory
an ash that never became a phoenix
you were the disconnect that existed between us
seconds became minutes, minutes became countless hours
where the black hole of your soul would devour
all the light gleaming from a young boy's eyes so full of desperation of your acceptance
all this time saying your name with the most respectful taste of reverence
regarding every letter with such esteem that I only uttered it when the wind would cease
allowing every syllable to release
with such crisp and pure annunciation, so unmistakable from other words stammered in my speech
I gave you everything, not in the tangible sense of the meaning
every ounce and fiber of my being
now the tears that roll from my weathered cheeks seem as if tokens of a past that never existed between us
I was the ash that never became a phoenix
never thriving in the fires of discontent and a past in flames
I  pray for the wind so I may never speak your name...

your left breast;
we were talkin'
about cosmonauts.
heads in the clouds
with no want or
worry to never see
this sphere's crust.
we would disconnect
from they. with no
lies from the eyes
we open'd palms in
welcoming fashions.
your right breast;
lying on fetid couch,
nodding off and the
ambience was a dri-
ving bass line. little
trickle, claiming no
worse than usual.
nod, and trail'd off.
slurs and abbrevi-
ated acronyms. sta-
nding in awe of emoti-
onless lack of reaction.

it's all good,
Van Gough reprints on the walls,
tact in,
type writer on the carpet floor,
a boxelder bug hides in between 'U' & 'I'
I've got a dollar in my wallet,
hair on my face,
and the dog waits at the door for me to be wild,
the room is cold,
the heater is off,
the electrician is drunk,
i hand him a bottle of wine,
we end up painting the walls,
with the left over blue buckets of paint in the basement,
"now it's like we're in heaven"
the bellyed drunk brown eyed electrician,
his hands face hair clothes covered in paint,
"now you are heaven"
and we laugh,
lighting cigarettes that taste like women,
and the Television screen is cracked and leaks out Volume 3 News
some how we are free at this moment in time,
when the color of the walls are pointless,
when the television screen says nothing,
when the bathtub is broken,
and the water pipes whine,
and the mind is fairly crazy,
fairly drunk,
fairly mad,
but it's all good,
because rent is paid,
and the world's fist is taunting me,
to see how long i can go without eating,
and how fast i can create.