Every time I hear that song
I want to leave the room
It brings back memories
Of sadness, such gloom
There I was trying to accept
To understand why she didn’t believe
In me, in us, in what could be
That song told the truth
About a girl confused
It hit me hard
I tried to hang on
No can do
I was stuck in a foreign land
Dumped, distressed
Dejected and mad
At her, at life, at myself
Stuck, out of luck
A man overboard

a poet's heart
is a thing of ink

pigmented with equal parts
hubris and anxiety
rage and hope
passion
and tears

narcissists filled with self loathing

composed of shouts inarticulate
and whispers of intricate craft

our thoughts and words rushing
through us
barely legible

defining our days
with explosions of fathomless obscurity
or flashes of visceral clarity

our nights consumed
in communion with paradise
while teasing secrets from the abyss

couplets and quatrains
providing us the space
to live
or to die

running breathless in free verse
we grasp at perpetuity
yet find ourselves doomed
to ephemeron

like the sky
we are rewritten each day

yet as the sky remains the sky
so do we remain
what we are

pages
in a book we can barely read

remaking and trimming

editing ourselves

to fit within the margins
of our paper souls

I am here—
with bedtime stories
lullabies
and a safe presence
to chase your nightmares away

I don't speak in grand gestures—
just turn pages with soft hands
sing tunes the stars might remember
and tuck your fear beneath warm sheets

When shadows creep up the wall
I stay—
not to fight them
but to show they can't stay long
and must go
as the night listens

You sleep—
and I remain
telling every dark thing
not tonight—
not ever.

My dearest friend Isabelle,
We’ve not known each other for long,
But don’t you find it peculiar
How well we get along?

What isn’t there to admire
When from the very first impression
You reeked of such charm,
That you instantly earned my affection?

What isn’t there to love
About your gentle psyche?
And your keen, ardent eyes,
And your superlative artistry?

Just know, dear Isabelle,
That I mean what I say,
That you truly beguile me—
Enchant me in every way.

And I am so proud
To have you as a friend!
So I swear that each time you have
With me is worth to spend.

breathe
inhale
exhale

cut
slice
burn

same thing to me

Walk with me,
Tethered in interlocked fingers,
The gravel path, rain-stricken,
Petrichor mingling with pollen,
Tickling our olfactory senses,
Perfumed in her elegance.

Walk with me,
Through verdant wonderlands,
Where arboreal creatures dart in the rustling flora,
How their almond eyes spy,
Our synchronized steps as we tread the landscape,
Finding our great escape amidst the ancient giants.
Sit with me,
Under the umbrella of shade,
Where the canopies provide a light show,
As the sun’s beams dance in between the shadows,
Creaking through the cracks and holes within the curves of green,
We can be in silence, save for the avian symphonies,
And the fluttering of wings as falling tufts of feather puff,
Fall from their eager strides along the wind jet.

Fall into me,
As we watch the daylight die,
Tropicana citrus palette painted,
With the hints of pinkish Lilly and lilac purple,
Strike upon the dimming light,
We can watch the pearlescent dots flood the sky,
Under the careful watch of their mother,
As her waning half shyly hides behind the blanket of deep indigo.

Be with me,
In this dark cozy embrace,
Where the navy blue cascades through our forested restaurant,
A pyramid of dried logs, light to a flick and a flame,
The orange glow dances like a ballerina,
Interpretive in its many shapes and tendrils reaching skyward,
I’ll cook for you, a simple steak, buttered and brined,
Sautéed with picked mushrooms,
And asparagus,
Grilled marked and fire etched,
Medium rare, like these little moments.

Eat with me,
While fireflies strobe about us,
And moths surround the embers,
While diamonds sparkle above,
Winking eyes that encourage this,
A simple kiss on anxious lips.