The ship goes down again,
And I go down with it,

Pummeled by opposing waves,
I linger.

Another pair of eyes,
Another warmth against my skin,

Another strand of hair
My hands have traced

Built castles,
And demolished them.

Turbulence,
So much turbulence,

I drown
In this everlasting feeling.

Yet, I reach for the surface,
Moonlight just out of my grasp.

home cooked dinners,
Fresh cinnamon brownies,

Just out of the oven,
A last minute road trip

Your hands, my hands,
Your lips, my lips.

Another soul
To miss.

I can be ****,  
like a lemon—  
an acquired taste.  

I can be cold like ice,  
or sharp like glass.  

I can be bright like the sun,  
or dark like a storm.  
I am all of these,  
but never at the same time.

i have been valued
most of my life
only for the pieces of me
well-liked.
they take those pieces
with them
when the rest of me
becomes intolerable.
leaves me full of holes;
full of things deemed
unlovable
frustrating
damaged.
walls have grown
to guard the tender parts,
to be particular about
what people get their hands on.
still these particular parts
chosen to share
get put atop a pedestal,
later revealed to be
more than ideal, unattainable-
i am still too much
and not enough
all at once.

The clock ticks on, the hands forever round,
Seconds escape, as hours glide swiftly by.
A rhythm that we never shall confound,
Our fate unknown beneath the endless sky.

When will it end, our fate in stone is sealed,
Meters below, where time no longer sways.
Love, fleeting, unless immortal revealed,
It fades like dreams at night’s forgotten gaze.

Without the care, it slips from our embrace,
A distant light, dissolving in the mist.
And all that’s left are memories we can trace,
As time erodes the lips we once had kissed.

But love can find its form in endless streams,
Immortal in the quiet of our dreams.

——

Shakespeare sought fame to make his love divine,
His words eternal in a mortal hand.
But mine resides in realms that can’t decline,
Where neither time nor fame may take a stand.

When stars burn out and silence fills the skies,
My love will rest in voids beyond decay.
Untouched by man or time’s elusive lies,
It lives within the endless dark to stay.

He pulls on the sweater, unasked for, ill-fitting and probably itchy as hell, but he knows the ritual by now and pulls until his head births and he opens his eyes ready for the chorus of smiles and laughter, but they're not there.
It's dark and the scents and chimes of Christmas are gone, he's spinning and falling in a force 10 gale battered by the sound of breaking waves, so he reaches out for an anchor.  His hands sink into a hedgerow, prickly with Hawthorn entwined with Holly, but he can't pull away and the momentum thrusts him forward through the pain into a field of sunflowers which swing their heads to face him, accusing him of trespass.  That’s when he becomes aware of distant gun fire and what looks like a star falling towards him.  Their heads duck down, forcing him to his knees and he's on all fours, his hands deep in Aunt Maud's **** in front of the fire, his head ringing, shell shocked, shaking and weeping while the family help him up.
- Easy there, Sam, you okay?  You look like hell. –
He looks around for his aunt’s face, and she smiles.
- He'll be fine, it sometimes takes us a while after our emergence from Mid Yell.  It's my first attempt at a Mid Yell and Ukrainian mohair blend.  Bring him some water.  Sam dear, have a seat and make sure you come and find me when you want to take it off, but not for a while. You shouldn't Walk the Goat too often, it confuses the soul. –
His siblings stare, full of questions and relief for their scarves as he studiously ignores them, and stares into the fire, shivering, hands prickly, the gun shots resonating in his gut and the aroma of sunflowers filling his head, knowing he needs to find that star.

I wish to know you
and abuse you,
I don't know better,
I'm not getting better.
I'm just the monster,
in your **** closet,
I love you to death
upon my last breathe.
Swans are on fire,
and the razor wire,
cutting to pieces,
I am a demon.
Swatting the sermon
of a local priest,
of my vile honesty,
I wish to tear in pieces.
My next meal,
are under the peel
of squirting
of the irritation
of an orange.