I’ve been unsupported lately.
Not a leg to stand on.
Some would call it untethered.

Floating.

A kinder soul might liken it to flying,
But they would be wrong.

Flying starts and ends with both feet on the ground.

It is calm
It is sour on the tongue
And then sweet
A green apple
Rainwater
Just a capful.
Petrichor
In my living room
Behind the eyes
In my living room.

I am calm.
I am sour on the tongue
And then sweet.
A secret. In my living room.
Just a capful of rainwater
On the tongue.

It is calm.
A green apple.

It is calm.
Just a capful.

I place the pacifier not -in- your hand
But near it.

You surely will find it there
Right there
In the dark
When you are searching for comfort.

I nudge it a little closer,
Thinking of little girls whose parents don’t protect them
And wishing I could climb over these rails
Into this little crib
And hold you hold you hold you.

I bid the pacifier take over,
Sleep tugging me away from you with its persistent hand.
A curse, really, to abandon my post.

How many hours do we lose to sleep?
I would give them all up
To stretch this time out and out and out.
You, dreaming your mysterious dreams
And me, right there when you awaken.

When I met you,
I knew,
You belonged with me.
Throughout these years,
Alone or apart,
No other woman
Lived in my heart.

When you met me,
I knew,
I belonged with you.
Apart or alone,
No other woman
Shared my home.

Whatever happened,
Whatever didn't;
We understood,
Together,
We're in it.

I believe in her.
Not in supplication or prayer,
But because she cares
About every countless hair,
Every fallen sparrow
And unopened flower.
I believe
In her power,
Her daily miracles.
She cries wet tears,
Her heart beats blood,
Her hands open and close
Around **** or rose.
She's no ****** deity;
She's not ascended beyond reach.
Not an image of pity,
Craddling a bruised and ****** body
(Though she would).
She is flesh and thought.
I believe
Because she is.

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Brutal eyes,
Lament in the melody of hope.
Diverse imagery rolls on each soul
Defining the core of their music –
A genre that is one of a kind
With dustings of masculinity
Making a legacy for this generation.

Each voice has no nerves –
And they’re like a formless water
Searching for an everlasting container.
To showcase the exquisiteness of the Pearl,
The backbone of their glory.

At first, they find no one to understand them
Even branded with hostile names
But they never surrender their flags
And raised the Nations’ banner so high
Even if all their villains did belittle them.

Their chords were like no other –
Their skills, they never hype about
And yet both the moon and the stars
Collided for them
And now is their time!

Some say: maybe it was their destiny…
Maybe it’s just for a while.
But their passion and thirst for their craft are unrivaled –
Always exceeding their best
As if their competitor is their living mirror.

Today, even if the Sun has exposed their grandeur,
Their modesty becomes a plus factor.
The world is their stage,
While A’TIN is their steady sustenance.

They had sleepless nights before
But tenacity led them to so many doors.
Many clowns had backed down
And some even turned from villains
Into aficionados who call them their ‘masters.’

They were born to be a standard –
And they deserve mad respect from every Juan.
Coz they’re not just stars but kings of their kind,
World-class vanquishers that we all look up to!
And this is just the beginning
Of the unfolding to the world of their God-given stories!

She said I was her first true love,
And one day she'd marry me.
I told her another might object to that,
For I'm not what you seem to see.
You see, there were three others,
That said the same to me;
And I married the one,
The only one,
The Mother of those three.

I should've written Thanks across a blue sky,
Where the winds would carry my message
Around the world.
But I didn't even try.

I should've banged my pots and pans,
Put a sign out on my lawn,
Or at least on a forward facing window.
But I didn't, and I'm wrong.

I could've, with minimal exertion,
Clicked Like or Love
On one of the millions of gratitude posts
Praising them... Them,
The essential and not so essential workers
On our northern, southern, eastern and western Fronts.
But I didn't, and it haunts.

So,
I will now say,
Thank You
To all those who expressed Thank You
To all those who have kept us healthy, safe and secure:

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.

I feel so

compelled

to bash your head in
with my love.

When you're dead,
I'll fashion a paintbrush
from a lock of your hair.

I'll paint you on the ceiling
in violent shades of burgundy.

I'll lick the bristles clean.

I'll paint my taste buds
with the vibrant flavors

of your love.

I'll craft a cradle from your bones,
and wrap it taught with your dermis.

Your

marrow

will seep out,

like the

love

from my heart.

I'll keep you.
Forever.
A shrine.
A memento.
A collectable.

A macabre reminder
of my

love.