A Small Collection of Poetry
My soul's a comet soaring, lights up the sky just like a star
And my footsteps are roaring, flying me to where you are
All the sands and seas and satellites cannot keep me away
And our parting's but an instant, just a second in the day.
O, darling, I'm your moon, rushing to you like the tide.
O, darling, I'm your moon, and I may never leave your side. We never should have parted, but you know I'll be here soon.
For home is where the heart is, and your heart is with your moon.
- For Laura, 2015
All who know me well know this
I've an addiction to a kiss
Let's add soft sighs onto the list
And crumpled shirts beneath my fist
Flares and sparks behind my eyes
Light up the dark, shoot up the skies
Warm breath at the side of my lips
And gentle fingers at my hips
The heated, wide-eyed, longing gaze
The graceless fumble, shifting haze
That whisper "I have missed you so--"
The pounding reply in my bones
Who knows the moment it will end
I know only with whom I'll spend
The trickling sands of time that sink
Too quickly--it ends with a blink
Have you another one for me?
I'll take it from you, merrily
For all who know me well know this
I've an addiction to your kiss
- The First (and Second and Third) Kiss, 2016
Death to the delicately worded euphemism.
Death to the rhetorical "discussion" and polite insecurity.
Death to the murmuring coo of the insincere lullaby.
Death to the eyes cast askance, the booted foot that daintily steps above the mud, the pitying tone and tutted teeth.
Let their murder be at the hands of speaking one's soul.
Let their disembowelment free the fetid, starving scavengers and the fearful skittering of feral beast and stinking bird.
Let the words of their eulogy carry the weight of cast stones and not glittering sand.
Let the wilting hopes upon the mantle and the pathetic wailing in the halls and the furious pyre of despair in the street be their funeral march.
Bury them beneath six frozen feet of regret and disillusionment.
Bury them beneath a mighty, ebony headstone that reads "One of the good ones".
- Those People, 2016
Let me watch these seconds slowly slip between my open fingers, restless fireflies peppering my palms
Let me murmur kisses and breathe secrets across your smiling lips
Let me swallow my panic, my desperation, the lead weight lodged in my belly and splashing acid across my tongue
Let me trace the paths of softening starlight in the shadows of your lashes
Let me take my time when the heat of your hands no longer sears my shoulders
Let me gasp for air when I shudder, shiver, and sink into a sea of salt
Let me let you go
- Let, 2017
O, my glorious haven
Let every rumble of thunder in your chest soothe the aches of my heart
Let each gentle breeze that brushes at my curl be as sweet and soft as the first
Let this titan of man's flesh and gods' breath never stir, but to wrap his palisade about my shoulders and shield me from the terrors of the earth
My shuddering sanctuary
Let my clumsy script summon only honor and glory, every syllable a billowing banner in your name
Let my tireless lyric, my maddening chorus, echo naught but joy and praise and pride
Let the songs of the masses toll only my unyielding love for you
My murmuring fortress
Let the delicate gold of dawn kiss your face and thaw the chill and shadow when I cannot
Let every featherstroke of fingertips carry the refrain of my desperate heartbeat along silken strands and velvet skin
Let my touch whisper the endless chant of my affection
My slumbering citadel
Let me call you "home"
- Home, 2017
To them, I am a child of the stars
But, the weight of eternity is struggling to escape
This clumsy cage of tender tissue
This maze of muscle that God began but could not build
This mass of wasted bone and brain and breath
And it will swallow the world
It is too big, too full, too restless
And my rust-red hands are clawing beneath the slick surface
And my smile is splitting my face from earlobes to eyebrows
And my hair is slithering to the floor in slimy, silent clumps
It is too bright, too hot, too angry
But no pain is for nothing
And I am so very afraid
In tearing back fistful after fistful of feverish flesh
I will find no stardust in the mirror
- Stardust, 2017