First love hasn't felt jealously or
shouting or anger or possessive rage.
It's in a vacuum, alone, rare, yet to be
buffeted by rough seas and bruised
lovers with attitude. It's naive and a
thing of true beauty.
It belongs in a museum, unsoiled,
protected in a glass case.

My sand is almost spent
hope for time to repent
forgive broken humanity
the scars of our futility.

A gap toothed lover with kink.
The kindest saint I ever knew
who helped me find my way back
from Oz on a yellow brick road.

Inside my frailty
I felt your cruelty.
I found my *****
in your claws
endless lies
in your eyes
made you blind
could not find
kindness but I
learned to fly.

I'm diminished
almost finished
just one more
day open door
outlive fears
phony tears.

There was a time
we lit up a room.
Toast of the town,
roses' full bloom.
Now we watch it
from a dark tomb.

We danced awkward
edge of youth's desire
two tiered nature bird
stole first kiss in the fire.