Late was the hour of becoming
those zigzagging cracks up the faded plaster watched like little snakes
calm witness a resurrection akin to biblical import
alone  secondstory bedroom filled by  distant company
heiroglyphs miraculous sudden translation speaking the sacred tongues of fire
our hearts beating the miles away shortened with every word
an offering blessed and given by minds touching fingers touching keys to invisible locks
turning turning rusty engines purring cats smug smile
yes and yes and yes lost islands bridged by joint effortless task
a torn off mask and a question asked
eternity snuck into momentary clouds parted with blooms of lightnings flash flood food for the spirit
children laughed where they couldn't be heard
the earth sang along with tropical birds
this welcome radiant gift in my chest cavity spreading quickening enlivening
a sturdy reminder recalling vigor not found in any common tonic
simple conversation a conversion of salt water to diamond sparkling fervor
rejoice drank its sweet juices staining the lips drips warming two hearts
a chance found true its mark
bullseye
it will be unstolen saboteurs tricked submitting their swords to strong hands arming guardian angels
this joy travels well past all hours
comforting dreams that sleep undersea in gold spiraling towers
wanderer heat old bones leave the cold leave all pains
pouring out poisons to make bows out of rain

warm sun  
burning my lips, cheeks, shoulders, *******,
skin
i opened my eyes and saw how we lost one of our lives -
all that remained was thirst until  our lips cracked,  and
we snacked the lives that remained unstolen.

And why can morning not last all day,
All afternoon,
All night, then stay.

Morning bright and light
Clean and New
Clear and Slight
Brisk with Dew

Why must morning go away
Why can it not stay-
UnStolen by the rest of day
UnDrowned by dimming hours
UnBuried by blindness in the sway.

Why can morning never stay?

is a slender beauty. the
    sideways stance of
'i hope it does not
                     touch me'
(it does,though). love,
with its perfect
               nail beds &
finger knuckles.
   She will reach you
      all the same.

there is a fatness to it,
too;    
    a lying roundness
who wills She/will not cut
you. She is scarletred &
  lives in you;She is
  who you call 'living'.

reservoiry in its
volume,
               fill my lungs
time&time over. fill
  every saucer,gilded
&unstolen, replace my
air with it. She does
   not breath colourless,
but has the flow
                  of water.

in the word,'love' is
the recurring curl of
love,
&love
&love
again.
            She is the end
             & everywhere,
if i could only see Her.