The Greek King Midas had the ability
where everything he touched turned to gold.
While it may seem great at face value,
the inability to pat his kids on the back,
or high five a friend was destroyed.
But at least,
something positive could be ordained from his curse.
Whereas everything I touch,
withers away and dies.
Screaming in agony and misery.
Living reclusively,
I sometimes forget about that fact,
until I get too close,
reach out,
and become instantly reminded.

Unerringly she always knows
when I need a hug.
Or a friend to sit calmly by.
Never does she judge.

I hold her here within these arms,
when the sadness calls.
Lays her head upon my shoulder,
as my tears do fall.

With her overflowing patience,
she accompanies me.
In public, as to seem normal,
not reclusively.

She alerts me unobtrusive,
when fear overtakes.
A gentle touch and eye contact,
tells me I am safe.

Embodiment of humanity,
this hero of mine.
She gives to me daily,
healing over time.

Although she isn't human,
she has done wonders.
Emotional Support Animal,
I couldn't "Live" without her.

red taillights graze the asphalt,
                                                           shaving off whatever we thought
                                                         ­                                                   was now.
the violent bloom of neon sanguine
dissolves into the thick darkness,
                                   the dense night sky that the moon slices           through      
                                                                ­                                         straight onto you
                                   (so piercingly it could spark a fire)
                                   just as the silence envelopes me into
                                   bitter and total solitude
                                                        ­                                     I forget to let go, I forget to forget.
Time wraps itself around me and ribbons me with memories, maybe this is all you see when you look at me. Maybe you are waiting to unwrap me. Constellations uncoil and stars dance on the polished marble floor
freely.
effortlessly,
closer.
                                                                ­       Closer now.

Just as reclusively as the moon, watching the stars occupy her room
as undefined as the horizon swallowing the foggy spheres of red light
and as nostalgically as the night
I wait for you.

an isle
of wealth
reclusively habitat
if credible
view of
turkeys when
feeding themselves
upon trumps
and there
is coming
this inhabitated
third world
now arbitral
very watchful
of nature
where it
has delved.

I don't know,
if i'm simply
unwinding
under your shade,
or hiding
reclusively
amidst your shadow.