Our eyes are love, my love.
Loving you, I love and become love
and so become you, and so love myself.
I love I—a simple thought
in closeness (to that) which truly belongs
and gives itself to us all.

Though the infinitely recurring
empty distance lying in between our eyes
ripples concrescently accelerating waves
of deadening nothing across this dreamy
fusion for which I hope. They sweep a plague
across its vulnerable pastures, blank its
evolving light, and shed in gray the plains
that could, that might, burst in bloom
of colorful dawn. The empty distance
sends the nothing rippling through my
liquid soul, and brushes painfully the core
of its eternally lonely water.

I cannot speak to you as I would wish.
My tongue, my moving ocean of flesh
cannot righteously carry the sails of my
unutterable voice to the safe shores of
your ears. My torch, my light, my eye
is with yours so impalpable, shrouded,
fit to glean but only the most jagged edges,
the sharpest points, and our deepest caves.

But I love you, and so, bravely, I will love
our eyes, together—inscrutable flames,
distant stars that burn closely in the uncertain
black of our skies. You will take light years
to reach me, but if you had not already,
I could not be here, now, waiting for you.
You reflect off my skinned soul
and I am what returns to you, light years ago,
as the birth of your own eyes.

I can stare into the abyss of sky and not flinch.
But the depth of your eyes, my love, trembles
stillness itself. Makes the distant star in my eyes
burst in birth of bursting stars.

If I couldst show to thee the measure of my love, wouldst thine eyes shine in radiant hues? Smoulder then in deepest lapis blues, that put to shame the very rainbow's best intent.

If I couldst share with thee, the hottest of my humors, wouldst not the boilings in that abyssal pit, pale and mediocre seem, as 'twere mine, in compare? It would melt old Vulcans's anvil, adamantine!

Take for thee, these my softest kisses, which, placed upon lips, seeming to mine own essence, as pillowed angels breath, yet, those godly messengers own sweetest puckerings, as granite, to those of my mistress.

If thou couldst pluck from my chest, a still beating heart, wouldst not the sanguine, boiling streams, scold the unforgiving stones, on which they splash?
The fiery vapours rending air, as heaven bound they rise to paint the sky, incarnadine!
And yet, merely moistening that beloved hand, which holds, the fleshy, ruby prize.

Canst thou now measure, that which knows no measure?
And like heavens starried twinkles, whose beacons point the way, know  this, infinite, is the measure of my love for thee, my mistress.

You were the gentle voice,
the moon that crept as I slept
caressed in lulling waves
Tides pulled heavily under your moons and beams
ocean's lost their way

Your hands shaped skies of day and night
planets all aligned
Your hair fell a streaming milky way
tangled celestial sighs
Moon cradled sleepily
long starried nights

In the night
Close by
A place where light ,love , and peace
Are never lead astray
Alive In the rye
Where the crickets sing
Under the blue moon
Starried sky
Take my hand
Be a friend
Here you can be yourself
No need to pretend
Counting stars
My hands cause ripples in the sky
From the bayou ...

What do I
Do now?
I said
There was nothing
To forgive, but
Everyday, I get killed
With the thought
Of you
Holding my hand
Watching the starried sky
With no care in the world,
And with all these feelings
Bursting in our chests.