I.
Tenuously,
the aging outline
of her solemn face twirls,

tracing the meandering galactic tendrils
that emerged from her ten-thousand light year goodbye,
the kind of heartbreak that builds upon the horizon like an avenging angel,
like a city of jagged shadows eating away the starscraping brightness of the past.

As lightning bolts streak across a cluttered heartscape,
the drumbeat of time thunders forward
and we are leaves on her river,
ever approaching the hungriest waterfall.

II.
Swaying in the wind,
we can become one.

If you offer your hand,
I will hold it in mine.

If you contemplate the universe,
I will adore you even more.

If your deepest thoughts
are withering in chains
in order to smooth away
the beautiful complexities of your frail essence,
I will inject a thousand caresses and whispers
into your day so you realize there is another way.

We are artists,
with singularities dynamiting
our hearts from day one.

We are storytellers with the wintry breath
that haunts the blackness of Now
like an old woman in the window that isn’t there,
pulling dreams from absolute zero,
capturing quantum butterflies from
the expanding vacuum of space
like we were born to do it,
which we so ******* were,
my sweet.

Here,
embraced by velvet starlight,
soaring to the peculiar gorgeousness
of songs we may one day share,
the rhythms and words of the cosmos
dance across the planets and stars,
stumble towards the humble journeys of asteroids and comets,
revealing in each step that even
the most minuscule subatomic particle,
even the grandest map of the cosmic microwave background,
has always been rushing joyfully in our bloodstreams,
thumping along with every heartbeat,
tasting the immaculate heavens with every kiss.

III.
I want to see the fire
of midnight in your eyes.

Swaying in the wind,
we can become one.

I.
I tremble towards you slowly,
tripping into shuddering branches
as uncertainty whips heavy circles of anticipation
into my glowing soul.

Grabbing your hungry waist
I pluck the moon from the sky like a ripe fruit,
a meager offering to your receptive lips.

For a moment the stillness hangs;
as we melt into the intoxicating darkness,
our senses take to the heavens like magnificent owls
gliding gracefully in the unending moonlight.

II.
Your thirsty stare weaves a cocoon of hope around us,
borrowing the sticky twilight-geometry of spider silk
to meticulously resurrect every splintered forest of past regret.

Of moving on
we know nothing.

As our ambrosial kisses stammer in particles and waves
they ignite into a necklace of slumbering lotus seeds:
thousand-year memories of human regression and procession
that churn like mammoth wheels,
revealing the steady clock-like drift
of our intertwined subconscious minds
which connect like a stomach to food
after a month long fast.

It seems we’ll always have mouths
for filling, won’t we?

And what is freedom but your body pressed against mine?

Our exploring hands promenade in the faint light,
and what a journey those photons have endured:
from sun to moon to Earth
and then into the fierce waterfall
of our cascading hearts.

III.
We covet the moist essence
of our volcano-melted edges
until the segmented worms of possibility
digest the sky into swirling puddles
of florid fever-dreams that
we escape only by rebuilding
our destabilized molecules one by one
in the accelerated consciousness
of our enjoined lips.

I. An Edifice Of Isolation, Built With The Bricks Of Desire

In the darkness of my bedroom
I send my love out in all directions
to search for your gorgeous and delicate brainwaves;
all the thoughts and desires that make you,
all the sparkling electricity that jumps and flutters
as your soft breath and pulsing mind fills a universe.

II. Where We Become Drunken Painters

As moonlight graces your intoxicating eyes
the tender reflection of my emotional core rises and scatters
like a horde of butterflies lifting off in erratic flight:
playfully flitting to and fro like a clumsy rainbow,
they gleefully splatter onto the canvas of the sky.

III. To The Rhythm Of Pounding Hearts

Your delightful countenance decorates even bare walls
with gloriously painted landscapes that sing
like a thousand springtimes captured in a bottle then vigorously shaken and swiftly let loose into the spaciousness that blooms
whenever two lovers gaze longingly into each other's eyes.

I.
Beckoned by the lopsided geometry of a half-empty bed
the vine-entangled walls of my imagination crumble like leaves
into the concrete waters of the present.

As awareness detonates
a rioting hailstorm of consciousness
hammers heart-echoes in rapidly diminishing waves
against the concave shores of my charred psyche.

Dawn's crisp light crawls
over the roundness of my lips,
melting moonlit memories
into teardrops that fall like icicles
from the ovals in my face.

Dipping her toes
into my fragile lake of thought,
she created a plaster cast
of the footsteps of time.

II.
Though the rigid tremors of Now
threaten to crumble the wobbling edifice of our past,
still we float together on this nostalgic life raft,
sharing air and space and memory.

Even as regret seeps
like a psychedelic river of graffiti
from our time-weary heartbeats:
still nothing is destroyed.

This solitary mountain trail
winds into the eastern sun,
yet as my sprinting feet strike the Earth
I cannot escape the panoramic view
of the towering marble columns we erected
while drunk on love's astonishing elixir.

Cocooned inside the irrepressible buoyancy
of a raging bonfire our hearts leapt skyward:
there she dipped her fingertips into the drifting clouds,
massaging a miniature portrait of the sky
onto the subtle canvas of my eyes.

I.
Sensuality orbits inside her irises
like a rising river of lightning;
I long for her flickering hands
to carve shadows into my skin.

As our bodies drift closer,
the tremendous crackle of our electric love potential
streaks past our assembling thought bridges
like a flock of neon swans.

She intently studies my face,
unleashing a tsunami of desire.

Visions of a dress-less,
breathless her leap like a pack of dolphins
from my ravenous eyes:
repeatedly breaching
the thin boundary that
separates sea and sky.

As the thunderous wave of yearning
pulses steadily through me,
the blackened stone of my crumbling heart-fortress
dreamily dissolves like sandcastle walls.

I am left exposed,
a pebble in its cavernous wake.

II.
As the mesmerizing swans of desire regroup and return
I am brought to my knees like a worshiping peasant.

My heart helplessly trails the trajectory
of the encircling birds as they rain down
flurry after flurry of silk from their knitting wingtips,
transforming my crouching form into a statuesque cocoon
of quicksilver anticipation.

I slip from gravity's grip
like a thousand separate strands
of her strawberry hair,
blowing in the wind.

I am carried upon the dawn's horizon
like a giant caterpillar,
hurled too soon into the sapphire sky.

I melt into the pillowy clouds
like a tired child cradled in the arms of mother:
straining to remain aware
yet content to float idly by,
one finger slicing a trail of ripples
into the deepening river of imagination,
two ears gently catching the intensifying rush of water
as it escapes skyward from the vast ocean trenches of dreams.

III.
Before my freshly unbound eyes
can adjust to the crisp mountain air
my heart cascades like a barrel
over the scintillating waterfall
of her receptive smile.

As I splash down
the tumultuous bats of excitement
scatter like light through a prism,
coating her beguiling eyes
with the water-born hues
of passionate escape.

With a playful wink of her eye
the cocoon's unwinding accelerates.

At first the strands simply snake
into the ground and disappear,
but soon enormous caterpillars of shimmering silk
emerge to form an enduring tree of joy.

Here underneath its expansive boughs
our fluctuating heart-leaps synchronize.

As we bathe in the universe's greatest bounty,
our eyelashes collide like gilded butterflies.

IV.
Without these hungry fingertips
how could I sketch the capricious curves
of her blossoming body-language?

Without this dexterous tongue
how could I taste the kaleidoscopic streaks
that so sweetly stain the emotional foothills of our love?

1.
the star shine
still crushes me

there,
in the dying light of June,  
hungry shadows of discontent
invaded our weary hearts

2.
strips of light,
clouds rushing by
the stark moon

3.
I was very sick then
and knew what would
never be touched

and the pale face
slipped into the pale hands

4.
it was raining

I remember
the last moments
when we kissed

it was

so slow and precise:
the careful brushing of ancient dirt
off of an emerging fossil

If I reach into your traveling star
will these hands turn to ash?

If I can no longer picture your calming eyes
in my imagination are you then gone
from my weary hearthfire?

Do the glowing embers fall silent the moment
I have forgotten the places where
we practiced our cosmic devotions?

When this time has passed
I am still not whole and no one
can save all these mists of rain,
alien roses gone green,
misty mountain spires blackened
by the pummeling fists of time.

I am the creator who wants to crush fear,
knowing this rushing onslaught of unasked-for doubt
and heart instability rises like bile from our thrashing chests.

In a moment I am gone.
Alone until the end,
the soul-missle has self-destructed.

We are children of detonation,
the demolished remnants cleared away
to make room for something new.

This could not be prevented.
Souls twist on the noose.
Soft rain descends and
the smell of death pervades.