You were maybe a foot away from me, sitting to the side, accomplishing your task with silent efficiency. A chord rung out, emanating from your body; it drew me near. I stopped to watch, stopped to see, a man of beauty, a man of strength. No cries of anguish or pain, no cries of fear of structure or fear of imminent danger. Hope lifted in my heart; you had a different vibe than all the other guys. You could make me happy. You could keep me safe. You would laugh at my jokes and guard my wounded self-esteem.

And then four feet away, not that much later. We met for the first time, for real. A sudden recognition, an exchanging of names, a few witty (or ditzy?) comments. Four feet again, near the forbidden. Our eyes didn't meet, for you were distracted, lost in your own world of music blasting from your headphones. I traced the line defining your back with a marker that writes on air.

Seasons slipped by. You stood just six feet away in your savvy black bowtie. Fake, yes, but still considered formal. A cheap imitation at the very least, but to one of us, it's all the same. Closer yet, a foot again, only a seat away. I drew my fingers across the top of your surprisingly smooth hands, tracing your veins, the veins that carried your blood, faintly pulsing, speaking softly of gentle carresses and sweet nothings.

Eight feet away, across the classroom, I caught your eye. Mountains moved and dams ruptured as cool, silky waters quenched insatiable fires. There were things I noticed for the first time: the kindness that pampered children underlaying each tone, the strength that upheld the weak resonating from your arms, and the love that would not hesistate to sacrifice sparkling in your eyes. Suddenly, desire gripped me like a reawakened flame, heat up to par with the heat that causes your veins to bulge. I realized that those veins now contained my life's blood. My lifeblood.

I watched you run alongside me, ten feet away, racket up at guard. I've never told you that when you serve, you look exactly like the man on the back of the team shirt; indescribable yet immortalized for an eternity. Eternity, a neverending length of time, the amount of time I want to spend with you and you alone.

Twenty feet away, even further but still closer than ever. Twenty feet, the span of a hallway perhaps, from one set of locked doors to another heavy set. Still close, still close, for no matter the distance, we can bridge this gap. With what? With love. My love for you, and yours for me.


The lines before you sing softly, over and over, three resounding syllables: I love you.

Sleep, sleep, dream about his mother,
how surprised you have been when she proposed,
that we should visit
              and give it a try
         in fresh air, at semi-high mountains,
we can wash there the old soft blanket.

You're holding her in your arms
      and swing your memories.
              
The translucent sea
          water is curling waves kissing
             one tiny piece of our great mother's web.
                Earth has sandy plains
   We are shores of time awaiting
                   magnificent wave of fortunate

Fate.

White coral necklace on the bronze, beautiful shaded
delicate skin; breathing mild Mediterranean.

   Scents.

Fishermen have captured seabasses, seabrims
      gasping for air on the wooden deck of Aurora.
             Two kids are crashing the sea urchin's armor
   with a stone.
Shield.

This contrast transfixed his attention even more
      on the contour of her graceful figure
and ripe ***** waiting under her summer dress to ..
       He could not withdraw his gaze.

At that moment.

The urge of yearning attacked his intricate muscles
      belly was on fire and he knew at that precise moment
          his lips were destined to kiss this charming cusp, this 
ineffably bronze spot between her neck and a slick collarbone.

Someone is already stroking on strings
        The chords of cello have blended everything.
Even the
Bundle of hot dust.

Around.
You may view seagulls. Flutter.
         Their gaze, and the sun particles may have caressed you.
                                             
All in the highest promised secrecy of silent
                Transformation. From silence to melody.
From forms to underlaying space.
      Time.    

Guards and fights are between me and you. From teen. Age.
        Albeit ! Albeit! Murmuring sounds have just overlaped the sensible reason. My usual rhythm pounds with frenzy
I can not ignore. Her! Her!                                Her!


             Me!
I hide among the crickets.
Their song allures me attached to your scent.

Woman. Lemon trees flower.
Mandarins. Laurel. Olives.

I look up at the whitest cloud and in it's form
                          There's the image of us..

The underlaying metaphor.
Tapped out notes into the night.
Then I was, but now just do not feel right.
But then, we was.
Now not right.
Now I am.
Now that it just not right.
That girl so warm so bright.
I know that in the morning.
I will Wonder.
What I metaphor!

The one who does willing to die can only experience the light of rebirth. Only the underlaying law for all foundation can  bring new life to those who has surrendered. Thy will be done.

I will try to measure my life
in codes for digital downloads
and in the many hundreds
of hours I've spent alone.
I don't know how else to do it.
I don't know how else to make it fit.
We never know it's finished
until it finally is.

One day we don't wake up
and we live in fear until it's over.
Because we don't know the
measure of us.
When my life is over and examined
what underlaying themes
will I find present?
And how do I prevent it?

And what of unfinished business
and loose story threads?
Do they get picked up and continued
in some later person's tale
or are they frayed too much for mending?
Am I too concerned with the ending?

Can I map a life to
Campbell's hero's journey?
Is the living as predictable
as a story circle?
It's certainly not as entertaining.
Do we reach apothosis
without a threshold being crossed?
Are we remembered fondly
or are we eventually lost?

I don't know the answers
but I sure wish I did.
We are thirty years from collapse
and riding a very fine line.
I need to learn not to fear
the fast approaching ending
because we're running long on story
but very short on time.