i think i'll always think of him as the ocean
with his eyes made of tidal waves and
a voice like a current that could always
pull me closer

i was the weather,
a pair of glass eyes that would rain
when i could no longer find reasons
to fall in love with the sun, and
i remember the days when he would
hold me in his arms when i could no longer
find shelter inside my skin, and
how our intertwined fingers became
my newfound reason to live

and letting go always felt
like i had run out of oxygen, gasping for
a feeling i thought i would lose
because i was taught that
love always dies, that it would only be
a matter of time before i would be left
suffocating in silence alone once more

but i am able to breathe on my own now
without feeling as if my chest could collapse
and swallow me whole
because i know that even the darkest skies
hold beauty within them, and if i just look up
a little farther,
i will see the moon

it's sunrise, love.
warm light beckons
and filters through the glass.
I've been awake for hours
and I've been studying every inch of you
like a scientist.
the heat of your skin
radiates from your bones.
so strong,
yet in your most vulnerable state.
I like to lay in the hazy dawn
letting shadows and light
make a kaleidoscope show
only for us.
blankets billow waves around us
and you are my boat.
I am a sailor
and I am an explorer.
you, a brave new world, untouched.
the gentle curve of your spine
is tidal.
we are magnets.
it's gravity
pulling us closer
until we gently collide
at daybreak

Away from all other cities
Far from any walkway or road
Lies a simple city on the sea
Known only as Mrn


The city would rise and fall
With the tide of that great sea
Which gave it the lasting title
Of the Tidal City


None for sure knew
How exactly the city moved
For the mechanisms that allowed it
Never had to be repaired


But this did not worry the simple folk
Who lived in the city and along the coast
For they were happy and content
Playing on the warm seashore


Every spring all manner of turtles
Would rise out of the sea
To bury their eggs in the sand
And wait for their young to hatch


The people of Mrn were particularly fond
Of those turtles and their precious eggs
Often they would sit on the beach for days
Guarding the eggs from potential predators


The costal folk lived there
Peaceful and content
In that tidal city of Mrn
That rose and fell with the waves


At that shore on the edge of the world

before I met you I had flood gates in my mind and a lock stronger than iron but you know you've always been a tidal wave with a thrashing determination to get your way
now I've got tsunamis every few hours because every thought is a wave without control and my mind has an occupation of its own

you can’t be stagnant
when there’s an ocean
outside your door.

Trials under an unfamiliar roof,
under foam board ceiling panels,
I thought I knew love,
I knew nothing.

It's a tidal wave on unfamiliar seas,
on a boat I don't know how to captain,
I'm a stranger to the concept,
and the concept is a stranger to me.

You think you feel it,
but you would know.
You think you know,
but you don't know till she comes.
A tidal wave,
and everything before is like playground love.
She's everything and you're nothing without her.

I picture them in a balmy hallway,
far-corner huddled; quietly, urgently
comparing their notes on ways I have loved.

They'll laugh at lame jokes and avoid eye contact,
each surprised by their own awkwardness.
One of them will quip the term
'eskimo brother'
and immediately wish he hadn't.
The rest will kindly ignore it.
The moment will pass.

They will slowly shed their discomfort.
They will remove their coats.
Sweat will bloom at collars
and trace knotty bumps of spine before
pooling into the space between
boxers and belt.

They won't openly discuss the
strange comradery
that accompanies the lazy river evenings spent drifting down the same mind-
but the tension pulling across
each of their jaws
will announce loud and clear
how frustrating it has
been to be cropped,
tucked in, paper fortune teller folded
and wrapped up into someone else’s idea of poetry.


Casually
then all at once,
they will get started.
Printed pages will uncoil from backpacks,
phones will emerge from pockets
and fingers slightly shaking
will chase the letters
of my name through search engines.

My sticky poems will fan out across floorboards.
They will lower their bodies carefully, not quite kneeling,
(and without mention of the bad knees they happen to share.)
They'll hover above each piece of evidence
and their eyes will crash along titles and memories-
they'll read with raised
eyebrows and pretend as if
they don't already know
each poem, each quick dig, by heart.

When they start claiming
and denying pieces
they will do so lightly
and without judgment.
'This piece is about you and the dry, delicate
tissue-shell of skin
she held out for you after you told
her to shed.
But this piece- this piece is about me
and the messy ointment
that ruined her clothes and
stained her blankets.
A doctor instructed she
apply the ointment to her hands
twice a day to treat
the burns my silence left
across her arms and throat.'

They will share a bit of rage,
A bit of regret.
A bit of shame, perhaps.
They will either miss me intensely
or not at all.
They will either own up
to the poems they begat
or begin refuting.
They don’t want any of
this chilly weight on their soul.
I understand.

They didn’t sign up for this, I know that.
They didn’t set out to rock me,
nor to dig down deep and get to my China.
I was happy to share, to whisper and recite blurry
morning confessions and epiphanies.
I was right behind them running toward the sand dunes,
waving a shovel and pail.
But I can’t feel bad either.
You all must have known:

If you happen to fall for a girl
who writes you must realize
that every smile you put on her face,
every stray hair you’ve pushed back from her eyes,
and quick habit she starts to crave
is fair game.

If a girl who writes happens to fall for you too--
forget it.
You will find echoes of the way your souls fit and fought
together until she has nothing left to feel on the subject;
(and you must be well aware
she's tidal, her feelings are icecaps,
they are melting but will trickle fresh
and renewed for centuries to come.)

I see curves everywhere.
Curves on
the tidal wave,
spreaded peanut butter on a toast,
the crescent moon, and
a women's waist.
But the one curve I need is
the cold beer that crashes into the bottom of
an empty, chilled glass.

to exonerate the clippings
they took the back road to oswega
the tudor house rabbits
had long lost their heads
(presumably to the *****)
and what remained
of the landscape
was dead
and dry
and orange

that happy home
on the brink
of cattle loop
was now gull grey
the needles
and stragglers
from shady bay
remained (in growing numbers)
on the outskirts
of the driven back park

the once fabled town
of horse drawn tours
and dignitaries
was stone washed ~
on the back of it's
government docks
sat decrepit toppers
set against the high tide
beside the lighthouse
and its measured song

flutes and fiddlers
and acoustic sitars
ride the accompaniment
nose rings
and signage
in the hands of
staged protesters
the sickly spit strewn
with tidal run
and ocean bags

hedgerows trimmed
along the sea side
rolling hills fade
adjacent the chuck
mint juleps
and flop hats
peak on the parade
clydesdales
and royals
blinded in the back

You wash against me

in rhythms natural

your sweet wet interludes

they make me want you more

  

The life that you bring to me  

the sustenance I get as you lap at me

with gentle persuasion

that never ending want

  

I know you as you know me

we are the same in tidal love

I feel your grasp upon my rocks

I do wish I was on top

  

Let the moon be full

for then I can have you all

in this corner of this cove

our tidal love we bestow

  

  

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

I'm 18
Where am I in this life
I was 14
I knew where I was heading
I'm like a tidal wave
The ocean
Nuances of blue and black
Calm before the storm
Raging in different directions
Every single way
I'm able to go in all directions.
The sun sets behind my horizon
The wind is blowing
Taking me east
Now west
Calm before the storm.

--- as a boy, I explored a hermit's lair
--- the hermit was not there, he'd left nothing but a tin box
--- of charcoal pills, a panacea for curiosity, I was told.

This old bearded fellow who lived at the foot o'thumb butte,
by the burro's water hole,
other side o'the hill from Doug McVicar's Jasper find

Tidal shorelines from my child hood
swirling through the softed rocks

Boulders on the bottom, roll on, crustal waves rise and fall

it all goes back to that 13,000 year mark
when Gobekli Tepi,
was in the building,
long long before
the Hopis were on the Pollen Way, leaving land marks on

Rocks risen above the desert floor

Some thing came from space, something very cold,
a snowball so big it tugged the ocean of magma
through the crust of the earth

nuclear glass, same time. nano diamonds

The younger dryas-

melt water pulse, fire from the sky, men could see that, with their own eyes.
and then they saw the clouds of witnesses

Rituals learned, the story heart seeps from mother to child,

at first touch some say.

Specialized touches were included in the 2.0s.
Holistic wuwu Randall Carlson laughs, why lie? Evidence, see.

What did you see when you passed through hell the first time?
Nothing, you kept your eyes shut.

Are you really
Experienced? That was the question. Ask the experts,
but some of them lie.
Never trust their clocks, that's wise. Time is too temporary to make
much difference
in the long run. Time, least of all powers in eternity. Chronos,
Chaos shattered him, and some story teller on a journey
saw the event
while his tongue was being tamed, a task no man can do.

Fire and Ice from heaven to earth,
whole peoples saw it,
with the eyes in their head

Hope is the key to the heart's lock on reality

The younger Dryad's oak burned,
Drought killed all the others, bugs killed the elms.

Ah spirit to spirit, compare. The heart of the world is weeping
for the ignorant eaters of poisoned poems and stagnant stories

speed kills when it comes to cosmic notes on rocks

patience, under stand the canopy of heaven can, filter
poison from those
stagnant stories's idle words, redemption draweth nigh,

count on it. Keep counting, patience finishes what she starts.

Sacred Geometry, scale invariance, I saw the Mississippi
Carve meandering ant canyons in the dirt
while watching the rain
Nothing's secret anymore, that's a reality that may be beyond

your thought. Textbook in stone. I know geometry Mr. P,

can I come in? She who builds, who destroys, who rebuilds, suggested
my bombs have a Nobel role,
in energizing

the ark
the earth is the ark, but you knew that already, right.

Acacia bush visions from a medium
of messaging the master builder,
who, you know, made this
happen, used to heal with ashes.

Healing war, study it no more, it is
possible man, alone, can imagine.

The Godhead? What's the big idea? You a heretic, Mr. P?

Come and see, leave the clock/phone.
---

This is big momma story, little clay doll with pointy feet
sticks in the dirt, stares at the fire,

the story mamma, shhh

Stands, and lifts her hands up high, pointing
all her fingers to the skies where ashes, glowing
rise,
like we can imagine the stars once scattered by God
and his sons's servants prepping

origins of human conflict taught
Tubalcain by fire light, while Jubal
Sang the very umph umph song from
Taj Mahal' 1970 with Jerry, Fillmore West,

A message to Garcia, from on high:
the imbecility of the average man—
the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it,
That, resist. It is evil.

Angels, imaginable, you know, mere messages, nothin more,

so great a cloud of witnesses
there was a times when  all
imaginations men were imagining heartily
were evil, altogether.

Enki left and went to the moon, or that's the story grandma's
sisters told me
when I was a little boy lost and found from time to time

The serpent on the staff, where's that story from?
Who says their mammy saw that happen.

Time, Hosts of Heaven, time is one of those.

Fan tasty taste, see, the truth is good.

Freedom, responsible freedom, take as granted,
intend good and go.
Seed of the Dream,
I planted that. It contained this fact,

we reap what we sow.

Ambi-Dios, ambit-ion with no hope for something just beyond
the best that I have ever done,
that'll make a child mean as hell, on the average,
according to the data Google smuggled into China
through those super phones,
unavailable in the USA, protected by the wielders
of destruction who eat the world up,
and drink its very blood.

the bread of shame, is fed to slaves to keep them in the queue,

BTW que-eee was the word I used for ****, when I was a child.
I took that word to school.
Nobody knew what it meant. I considered that cool
and kept my secret until just now.

I feel so free.

A builder sees a building and the builder in a single glance.
None may enter here lacking geometry, that's no secret now.
The cultivated Pythagorean mind, simple as pi.

'Cain't get to Romans eight, which is here, now, I think,
with out going beyond Hebrew six.

The measure of a man that is the angel. No comma,
just a jot, then this means that,
to the mind
listening for mystery in beauty found lying around.,
glistening in the sun.

I talked to a tidal wave shaped like god.
it told me the world was better off empty.
there is no such thing as quiet
there is only overwhelming static
leaking into your skull
dripping from the ceiling
burning holes through the floor.
I talked to a tidal wave shaped like god
hand pressed to the third rail.
blue feet in frigid water
palms open to the sky.
waves echoed from its form
its whispers pushed a breeze through my hair.
I talked to a tidal wave shaped like god.
it told me we were better off nothing.

The earth's people are corrupted,
Listen to what I have to confess!
If there are emotions behind their motives, they will search and look into things which they should have been better off unseen, forgotten,
If their wish is to become alike a demon, they will dye their hand red,
If their desire leads them to be angel like, they will dye their hand in innocence and purity of the good deeds in order to achieve this goal,
The sweet poison of a lie's flavour is very sweet, likely to be consumed by those who are afraid to confront the cruel, harsh truth,
Bound in constant change, the true nature of a human remains, within the depths of their soul, somewhere deep inside, sealed away,
Admire the moon, as the remains, called corpse rots under stardust,
Does its reflected light begin to wander ? We will see, here at eternity,
After all, this natural satelite, becomes more distant due to tidal effects, leaving us behind, even if it is simply small steps it has taken,
Being forgiven from the endless purgatory, the suffering one may call
"Living" within the transience of this planet which comes to ruin through their greedy hands, desires to make more income and wealth
Drawn out in long shadows, through winding fate amongst strings,
After all, this is a pure stream of sadness.

~Umi

i am still
wondering if you
can love me
in every season
after so long

i wish we could go to a park at night
and sit back to back
on a blanket beneath the trees
and talk until the stars tell us to go home
because when i look at you straight on
my knees grow weak and my voice shakes
and maybe i'm not exactly sure what to say
when i'm distracted by
all the what ifs in your eyes
and maybe my mind dizzies with thought
like the possibility that i could be
a high tidal wave
that washes away the foundations
of a barely built sandcastle
and maybe i just wish i could tell you
everything on my mind at 2am
and maybe i'm just really hoping
you feel the same way

sitting here inside this dream
wake up, maybe try to scream
the feeling deep inside my fear
that there's a chance you'll disappear

painting a picture in my head
of you here, inside my bed
arms held close and I lose sight
thinking of you this night

smother me with all the love
you fit with me just like a glove
this thing we have is pretty fun
when I'm with you, I come undone

never mind the lesser past
I get to be with you at last
ride you like this tidal wave
lately I've been feeling brave

Fill the hollow crevice of my existence
With light, show me a warmer way
Stop numbness from taking over
I am slipping further0 into dismay.

Down the senseless pit of despair
My direction is out of control
Darkness paralyzes my mind
Strangling thoughts that crawl and roll

Constricting my body until I give up
I kick the air but cannot land a blow
The empty space will never stop resisting
The sound of my own scream has become my foe.

The endless void swallows my voice
Here the tears I cry fall forever
The lies I have told mean nothing now
I knew my will was always meant to sever.

Faced with nothingness all around
This is my life; a ******* hole
It's slowly shoving me outwards
Little by little, pain taking over my soul.

Chaos has reality gripped
In a tight but unsure grasp
Confusing the mass of color
And motion contained in its clasp

Bullied by the tidal wave of isolation
Head above water though it is strong
Giving up the ability to move
Surviving by the current floating me along.

My consciousness is traveling lethargically
I no longer feel my torso or limbs
Attempt to wiggle a finger but it won't budge
It takes all my strength to speak and part dry lips.

This is where existence ceases
Where time's beginning meets its end
An unending loop of monotonous emotions displayed
A breif instant in which Eternity life does suspend

Remember, that chaos first was a primordial deity,
Chaos; the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line and... halibut.

All of this,
every measurable moment,
every particle,
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.

Often depicted with wings, a bow, and a quiver of arrows,
Cupid, son of Venus - goddess of love,
son of Mercury - god of trade,
his story,
almost identical in Greek and in Roman
mythology,
his story, about a couple of gods
who seem so inherently human by nature,
jolted by jealousy,
dumbstruck by beauty,
hellbent on immortality,
his story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts.
Wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.

Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest,
well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose,
I wanna have meaning.

You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is, we can never know the whole story--
the complete truth.
Problem is, we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it,
every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreating a moment.

I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.

I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).

And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.

I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my neurotransmitters feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).

There was a moment in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent by the presence of something.

Hold me to your breastplate.

I don't ever wanna go back to the void.



*02/09/2010

like a tsunami;
the thoughts of you,
the memories of us;
they flood my mind,
without a warning,

my love for you
were the tidal waves
and you were the shore
because no matter how much
you pushed me away
i'd come right back to you
just to be pushed away again

you came into my life
like a tsunami
you drowned me whole
i'm still sinking
deep into our memories,
the memories we made,
when you were still
in love with me
and i never wanted
to be rescued

you were the tsunami
of my life
a chaos caused by
the beautiful mother nature

when you left,
i finally understood
why were tsunamis natural disasters.

Nights have me up
I'm awake with memories
Casting spells on a good night sleep

Life holds so many chapters
Telling these stories
Sometimes forgotten laughter
Sometimes it's so much better
Battling the days saying
Today would never be

Tidal waves haunt my dreams
   an overwhelming feeling of fear
and rebellion takes hold

I sit upon the shore looking out to
sea the dune where I am sitting is
              steep
            and
       angled
dangerously
towards the shore as to create  a
well  between the waves and me

I am calm upon this hill
unaware of the danger, I  
    d
       e
         s
           c
             e
               n
                 d
to the foamy energy below to dip
my feet.   I    swim       out             a                   bit

Panic

I look out and see a wall of
     water, fast moving, tall and
               furious
                 I am not quick enough to
     swim and climb back up the shore
                        It's as if the dune has grown one hundred feet in the air
                                                              I am destined to be smashed in between

                 the wall of sand
                              and the wall of water
                 in my well of fear

I am a tidal
wave thrown and
tamed, by the moon only. Yet eternally
morphing, the moon, which
is never the same and,
always is. Pushing and
pulling and back and
forth and waves and
surfs and tsunamis
and ripples and yet never
stillness.

Listen to us, immersed in life:
Feel sensation (wipe away strife),
Know experience (and never desensitize).

Let the breeze amble by
touching clothes, flowing robes drifting over
soft air so quiet. Hold it there.

In the name of the wind
that brushes against our face,
Close contact on delicate skin, so
boldly tempting fate;
The words remained traced in the air:

-ALL ALPHA ALBEITT ACE.

Emulsified by dark days,
I used the memories to stay awake.
Keep it clean they say,
But my soul had been stained;
The senses had strayed too far away.

Bent to the will of the chems
they had been rendered slaves;
Surreality does slyly misbehave.

Draw simple oxygen into your being
as an empyreal tidal wave rises again;
The air around me speaks psychedelic zen.

As I breathe my last breath,
and the water fills my lungs,
I turn and see a boy;

He is drowning
and no one can see him

except me.

when the sallow moon rises
from her hidden slumber
and the stars light their
unimaginably distant fires,
i slip under my fleece cocoon
and curl into the waking dreams
of sleep.

my thoughts lose their borders,
flowing into an erratic pulse of
flashing images and wild colors.
in these dreams, you are a tidal wave.
you swell before me, dark and
enigmatic, a monstrous shadow.
you are deep and murky,
making my heart race with
the fear and excitement of the
unknown.

under the forgiving moon,
i allow my mind to hope for
things unlikely and far-off.
but when that pallid face
slips behind the earth and the
arrogant sun climbs up with
a blinding smirk, i turn my
own face toward the mirror and
stare into his begrudging truth:
i am not first place, i am not the
best, but i am just good enough, and
that is plenty for me.

When she told me she loved me
I didn't believe her.
So i killed myself instead.
A fairy came to me & whispered enticing secrets in my ear.
He outlined a closet upstairs
where I live alone inside my head.
Tidal waves of white roses grow in & out my of spine.
Suffocating the fishes prancing in a field of raving vines.

Lunar Lullaby plays hopscotch in a cloud of flies.
She licks cherry red ice pops & sings bird hymns to oak trees withering in the wuthering skies.  
Swarming dragon-lies fly in lakes upon Monet's canvas.
There he paints a beauty of Thumbelina whose grave resides in the darkest corner of my empty heart.

A red cape looms above & flutters without wings.
My cave is growing vaster
And so I sail amongst its seas.
This Psychosis is no more wearing thin than Rigor Mortis can begin.
I'll live sedentarily as a maid serving rotten apples to men chained as apes.
A lotus will float on by down this bloodstream & into the night.
As a crater on the moon your corpse died suddenly as when fruit bloom.

I can still smell you
In my sheets
In the sleeve of my shirt on the side that was nestled beneath you
In my pillows
Traces left behind
After the title wave of you.
If I close my eyes
And think hard enough
I can still feel your hand
On the back of my neck
And your lips on mine.
I can try to summon
The feeling of your beating heart beneath my cheekbone
But it has faded too fast
And grown too faint.
I try to remember the heat
Of your skin sliding along mine
And the sting of my skin
In your teeth.
This tidal wave of you
Has come and gone too quickly
Leaving me alone
In the wreckage of its wake.
I am left with just enough vestiges of you
Your scent
The ghostly touch of phantom fingers
To remember you vividly
And miss you eve more so.

To the man who made me who I am

Being with you was like learning without a textbook
I just watched and copied and made it my own
From gardening to maths
You made me my own genius

I didn't have to speak for you to know what was wrong
You didn't judge me for the silly things I said
Or how I never learnt at school
You taught me to teach my self

You were my Mr Miyagi
With less riddles more jokes
I learnt that laughter can flood rooms like tidal waves
And we were leaves to float in it

And now you're gone I wont mourn
You would tell me to stop crying and cut my hair
I will use laughter to put a smile on raggedy dolls
And the stories to keep the dark days down

Thank you for being the Godfather of giggles
Making Sunday dinners not the day to fear Mondays
Having gardening not be a chore but a way to think
Rest well Granddad.

I am the sun
and you
are the moon:
my tidal-wave
tears
are controlled
by you

So when it’s 2am
in the middle of the night,
I know why
I can’t
sleep tight.

I don't think i'll ever fall in love...

Even as I write these words I can imagine the faces of my closest girlfriends, and the well meaning statements of reassurance such a statement might illicit...  

Only... I do not need to be reassured...
When I say i don't think i'll ever fall in love, I'm not speaking from a place of defeat, but rather from a place of recognition, and understanding.  

"Oh, Don't you worry Phillip, you will find a great girl one day :) "

Thank you for the vote of confidence Ashley, I know it comes from a place of great intentions, but...the truth is I have met great women, some I call family, others I call friends, still some I call teachers... and then...some... I whisper to, softly in the night


I have been blessed to meet women who are strong, talented, intelligent (many much more intelligent than I) and beautiful, dear lord, if there is one thing I am grateful for, it is the multitude of beautiful women you have put into my path, their faces shine with perfect symmetry, sharp jaw lines  holding delicate female features, which pluck upon the silver strings of a midnight liar named desire...

It is not for a lack of meeting women that I say I don't think I will ever fall in love, and it is not a shortcoming on their end or a shortcoming on my end that breed this idea, rather, this idea developed from the realization that "to fall in love" has a connotative meaning, a meaning which has been bought by corporations and mass marketed through our media in the form of stories, books, and movies, with redundant story lines that follow a formulaic model that ends in either two dimensional happiness or despair...

When I say, I don't think i'll ever fall in love... I am not saying, I will never love...  
I am in love...
I am in love with life, the subtle intricacies in a delicate tapestry,
I am in love with family, who take time out of their day's to mould me,
I am in love with friends, who hold me down through tragedy,
and...I am in love with all that I have met...

Its just that...I don't believe my love has to come after a fall...

I believe that love is simultaneously eternal and momentary, that the moments crafted in love will be echoed through the halls of eternity, until the Valkyries of Valhalla bring their weary heroes home...I believe that relationships are meant to be fluid, that we are meant to freely flow in and out of one another's lives, and through honesty and consent craft the parameters of our relationships, rather than trying to take people, and through some antiquated notion of "relationship" form a shallow contract to absolve our insecurities,  

I've been in formal relationships where I have felt choked, as if the words I will never leave you linked together around my neck to form a chain of lies ending in...never again

And... I have had friends with whom passions have arisen, and in the dark of night and the secrecy of our abode, our bodies have fused together into a tangled, and sweaty heap called freedom,

To put it simply, I have been in loveless relationships, and love full...well...by contemporary standards...love full nothing's

So please know...That when I say I don't think i'll ever fall in love, I am not saying I will never love...but rather... I will never fall...for the ******* lie...that love can only be fostered through some mundane form of courtship doomed to die...through some, incorporeal ignorance that makes one feel he or she owns the other, fall for the bull that flowers on Valentines day somehow means I get you, or that a diamond means, I love you...

But...also know...that i don't say I will never fall in love...
But rather...
I don't THINK I will ever fall in love...
Because no one person knows the future...

And it may just so happen that one day, in some dusty..smokey..coffee shop I  may be reading this very poem... and in the audience there may be a women thinking to herself that sounds exactly like me...

And through perfect symmetry I may be swept away, the sand castles of my doubt cast out to sea by the tidal waves of our emotion

But...I still don't think I will ever fall in love
Because real love dosen't make you fall,
It makes you soar aloft wings of passion and truth,
And so after this whole rant I believe my original statement needs a revision,
Because now I DO KNOW...that i will never fall in love...
But if i meet the right person...
I just might rise to the occasion

Every time my heart beats for you now
It tampers with the richter scale
Of anxiety within me.

And provokes the wake of a tidal wave
To swallow it
Within a rip tide of depression
And sweep me out to an emotional ocean
Without a paddle in sight.

I'm too far out
I can only use my hands
To get back to the shore I can't see.