Meet me there,
in the Elysian fields that
hold us between a mortal and immortal time.

Meet me beneath the moonlight beams,
and I will wait for you in the moonlit crest banks
as the gentle rains of the night
transform to the thunderous cries of the gods.  

Meet me there, my love.
Beneath these facades of skin and bone,
our souls call to one another.
I have known you in a place beyond space and time.

So come home to me my love,
and let us sail to the shores of our fateful bliss.
I shall love you through the storms of time,
if only you allow me to hold your hand in mine.

I watched as your stabbed yourself with daggers.
Your blood ran cold down your shaking body.
I tried to remove the daggers from you,
but you could not let go.
You were addicted to the pain that they brought you.

I tried to mend your wounds,
but you would **** them open,
drenching yourself in your own suffering.

I tried to give you the space to heal,
but to you only pain is real.
So you self-inflict
in hopes that no one will see the skin behind your scars.

So I watched you die before my eyes.

How I long to be touched by you,  
body and soul.
How I long for your lips
to press against mine
and wash away the fear of our fleeting time.

Your beauty is ineffable;
it would be a disgrace
for the world not to glimpse at the divinity
that is written upon your face.

How I long for your skin
to give warmth to mine
as you drench me in your silk
beneath satin sheets.

How I long for the parts of you
that will not be washed away with time.
Oh How I long for the woman that has bewitched my mind.

He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.

Some women belong to the Spring.
They're meant to bloom,
but they were never yours to keep.

I watch the stars dance through the sky
as my youth passes me by.

Alone I cry
with the weight that one day we all shall die.  

I look to the sky
and in a glimpse see the faint lines of a waning moon.
Painted with droplets of silver,
the night sky shimmers.

My hands feel the dirt that surround me on all sides,
breathing in the musk of the blackened night,
my eyes shed a tear.

A bat flies before me, alone in the night.
I watch as he becomes one with the darkness.
He flies to the moon and transforms into stardust.

Only then I see,
there is no separation from the stars and me.

We are elaborate animals made of wood
earth, flowing like water into the veins
of the sky.

The sun being a fist of lava, and the night
being an enticing molar—we are
a succession of tides, being swallowed
by successions of day; and how beautifully
we wilt in the presence of joy.

The moon may be nothing
but a luminous
stone

and to eat the poetry of it
is how one chokes
on love

but the romance of morning
is that if by midnight
you are alive, that is joy.