I wonder if he knows,
after he died
I went digging for him.

How sad it is
for someone to exist forever
and still be gone.
Should this be seen,
I have loved you most in death.
More beautiful somehow,
some ethereal,
natural sense
of serendipity
and I still
did not wade into the river.
I was scared of what I might find.

Part of me
wishes we had gone together.
Our hands
rot into each other.
I become you
becoming earth.
Now that I miss you,
I see you more everyday/

I know
if these words are in the world now,
you and I have both passed.
I hope we are reunited somewhere.
Clasping fingers,
touching lips,
where
every day
it is New Years Eve.

I saw them today
bundled in a pile
in my kitchen somewhere.
In them,
I see two children,
bright as sun,
good as gold,
foolish as the malcontent.
The nights
we loved,
the nights
we couldn't bare to.
And despite all,
in these photos
we are happy.
I keep it this way forever.

Once I loved an Irish lad,
beauty in overwhelming purity.
More northern than I,
and loved with the strength
of one thousand mountains.
The grassy mounds
of his affection
was where I spent six months at a time.

They all called him common,
my strapping Irish boy,
but from the exclusion of wealth
comes wealth enough.
The ultimate higher love.

My Duchess.
Never have I ever loved
another face.
Look at me,
again,
if you can.
I burn.
Oh, my heart.
She is the most beautiful woman
in the world,
what I wouldn't give
to be between
those thighs.
Porcelain beauty.
Moving only
under my
Touch.
and the gentle noise
so silent outside this room,
so loud to me.
My statute love,
mine forever,
poised like this.
Angels on air.

The string
that
keeps me .
I tell people
it has broken
long ago.
If anything,
it has wrapped
itself
around my body.
Every inch of skin,
and begs for more.
String,
all over the floor
I am cleaning up
after a love too messy
to write about.
At night,
tug, tug, tug.

I feel it still.

The most beautiful girl
in the world
and I
am taking her out to dinner.
She is wearing red tonight,
violet in the evening,
white to bed,
and blue in the morning.

I am inhaling the tropics outside
and through the hotel
window
My Rosaline,
My love,
you are the most Bel-Air
you will ever be again.

I left my heart there for sure.