Visitors give me pleasure,
When they depart.
5/9/2024

isolation has its familiarity,
as happiness is a drug
yet not as addicting as
misery.

My lover has the hand of an artist,
The heart of a poet,
The brain of a genius,
And the ear of a musician,
The most rare mix of beauty and tragedy.

The easiest: Expectations The most difficult: Acceptance
and when you get the guts to have the latter one, you spontaneously stop having the former.

Star-struck before conception
lightening bolts through ancestors hearts

a single cell sunbathing in warm oceanic waters

-the lull before the split and the storm
- of generated generational daystar lovers.

You heard me !
I don't write silly love poems anymore .
At best they become bleak .
They are the ships at sea scuttled by storm .
The aircraft that lose power and crash into the ground .
The miners of affection when the roof comes down .
Don't ask or make a sound .
I'm committed to silence so don't you mess around .
THEIR evermores doomed from first kiss and sworn bliss .
From the cradled vows
to the certain anyhows
Don't ask me about love poems anymore .