love is a stranger

love is a demon whose plains i roam like a mongol on horseback
mistress of my range is sometimes kind, sometimes harsh
she shows me a face of a blue moon at dusk
she shows me a face of a pale star at dawn
it is not by habit that i could guess her mood nor intention

love is a stranger whose bed i sometimes wake to sunrise in
mistress of my comfort sometimes hides her face from me
i am often left in a castle resplendent with candlelight
i am often left in a castle with a hundred windows and no exit
it is not by knowing my place that i am in her good graces

love is a jealous partner in crime who like me is a thief
mistress of my riches sometimes tosses me a golden wishbone
she brings me garnets and rubies but never a clear diamond
she brings me silks from far off places and uses them to bind
it is not by trust that i relinquish verses to her possession

love is a potion of a cynical heart torn witch i know
love is an addiction of a violent tempered god i worship
between spirit, body and mind love holds me together
like a thousand splinters trying to burst from constant heartache
like a multitude of hungers trying to meet their constant craving

late is the hour

late is the hour, yet my body and mind seem to be in another time zone where it is either early morning or early evening; times when everything inside is shifting from stillness into motion. it makes me wonder what it might be like to be able to go for four or six days without sleep and then sleep for several days straight through. or perhaps i just find something so soothing in the late hours of night's darkness when most everyone else is in deep slumber and my senses are not disturbed by their waking static. i don't understand the dichotomy of my feelings about people most of the time. i don't understand how i love and hate people at the same time so frequently. perhaps it is just a reflection of my own perception and attitude about myself, it could be; why not? if that indeed is the case, it should not surprise me. nothing should surprise me anymore or at least that is what i would like to think...well some of the time anyway. i think i also like to change my mind; a lot! hah!

body schema

listless and restless are his fingers,
wanting to draw and scribble
something; some face to comfort
the fatigue drawn out under
the falling night sky and rising stars.

eager and craving are the sensations
coursing through the vessels, past
tissues hungry for blood, dying
for warmth promised for so long;
for touches promised like dreams.

tingling melodies are caressing
the thousands of tiny hairs rising
up from his skin, from the goose bumps.
body schema reaching its limit;
body's thirst for soulful company.

imagined liquor reaches his lips,
she swallows a thought, he is quenched.
momentarily dark and light are married;
a bond like glue between broken pieces;
a bond like halves of a fallen seed.

feb 21, 2007

silent ether

for Kat

leagues away and behind glass
she lies in his mind, half awake,
scared and restless;

through a window she imagines
him pulling a sharp quill
across parchment, ink bleeding

into pools becoming sad eyes.
letters becoming whispers –
if she could only hear his voice.

beneath a cyan lined cloud,
he stares at once warm tea
waiting for magic to appear;

painting into his retina
something akin to cold comfort
and sighs into silent ether.

feb 21, 2007

plush

for Kat

words they exchange trail in his mind
like water ripples in the wake of fingers.

they leave fragments, word pictures
in his imagination, fleeting and ephemeral.

she stirs the water, conjuring scents
and lover's spirits, floating as steam.

the candle's flame reflected in glass
hides what waits behind the pane;

keeps a comfortable mystery
between the mind and the heart.

moments of silence are savored
like the hush of velvet curtains;

plush to the touch like polished nails
on soft, warm, clean, damp skin.

distance between them is like
anticipation before an embrace.

time apart between them is like
a virgin touch that won't let go.

feb 19, 2007

the white winter sun

puts a pale highlight
on my forehead
between my eyes.
it places a mark for me
to remember that there
is an invisible eye there;
that i must remember
to use to see inside myself
and find the reflection of
the one who holds my heart.

imagen

blossom laden
supine against
the closing sky

these arms reach
without body
to touch, caress

so with soft hues
seduction is left
to wanting eyes

2007