underappreciated-
most do not see her beauty -
their dreams pull them away.
some eyes burn from the midnight oil -
to them, she may seem like a hallucination.
others run too quickly to start a conversation.
a rare few wait for her -
they appreciate her beauty,
continuing the conversation in awe.
she does not live for the people of this earth,
but she provides for them no matter what.

What’s a block to you?

Is it a distance that measures street to street in a city?
Or is it a cube of wood used as a toy?
Perhaps a chunk of material, no discernible or particular shape,
Or defense in sport to prevent offense to move.
It could be housing for the incarcerated, a portion of time,
A section of cheese, or lack of writing ideas.
Half an insult, maybe, paired with head?
Part of an engine, working or dead.
Noun, verb, or adjective, the grammarian in me
Asks today what “block” is to thee.

how do I love you
how can i not
in self isolation
with an ocean
of emotions
washing between us
I still feel you
lying next to me
warm skin
pressed against
warm skin
even
warmer hearts
communicating love
together singing
nothing lost
in the millions
of cresting waves
feeding
the undertow
your love
and how you express it
a constant pull
from the pit of my belly
to wherever you are
how do I love you
how can I not
oceans of emotion
flowing between us
I feel you as
every double beat
of my heart
sounds out your name
wild seas
storm the horizon
awash with love
that refuses to be tamed

© J.C.

1890
It was a nearly "unmentionable" product for years, and consumers were often embarrassed to ask for it by name or even be seen buying it.

Timid shoppers simply asked for "Two, please," and the clerk presumably knew what they wanted.

To keep things discreet, @@@@was packaged and sold in brown paper wrappers.

Moonbeams are

Just dead skin

Glowing


Who we are 's

Just dead skin

Going



On and on and on again

To a place where the nightlights never end

And after all is said and dead


We're gone



It's funny how things that are odd

Remnant creepy and macabre

Are the things we dare call the face of God



Moonbeams are

Just dead skin

Gleaming


Who we are 's

Just dead skin

Screaming



Over and over and over again

Why won't the nightlights ever end?

And after all is said and dead


We're gone



It's funny how things that are odd

Deliciously ruined and macabre

Are the things we dare call the face of God