i'm so torn and stretched along the edges, yet i love how wicked and real the discomfort is. it's coming out of my belly like a beast, all the mistrust and fear, judgment, old wounds. i feel like being intimate with myself so that i can see what i am., yet my intimacy is so sexual by nature, and unwound. i'm so swollen with relief that it's all over, and it never really began.
so i keep thinking, maybe we stay away from love because the fear of losing it is so unbearable, so we cling to that which radiates like jewels, sinking in the sea of tension and relief.

chances.

you gave me a bouquet, wilted purple / violet,
how they flew from my hands,
like deconstructed industrialism.
she's throwing roses, like flowers in her hair.
muses for the ladens in their sorrow.

how careless i could be with your love,
if like glass, pedals shatter, would you trust me?
i'm gentle still, and quiet.
hush, the mountains they are arriving.

i'm no one for you though, with
this glowing heart and burning fever.
i'd burn forever, in these days,
melted soft with wind blow.
oh but you, with the medal armor.
how daring!

my love must fall apart.

your touch rang through

all alarms disengaged,

all stillness shuttered,

in dreams i took you home.

my arms reached

through the door,

under the bedding,

unto my pillow case,

only fever and desire.

imagination,

difficult to hold,

yet immersed

in complete ecstasy,

i stand transfixed.

land of dreams.

i read poetry by my bed side

and imagine that you are there,

still words and phrases,

embers to the nightfall,

echoing...

across the land of dreams.

do we continue still,

massive forms unto ourselves,

like the pearl of winter,

damaged and frail ?

oh how sweet the voice,

like burning tulips

in the meadow,

up into the airy breeze.

you are a child of mine,

warm hands,

tiny, beating with the heart,

i listen for an ending.

oh how the tree grows bowed,

unto the earth,

in prayers song,

i am one onto myself,

i am with the last wind.

i hate it when you're so beautiful like that.

winter

in the winter,
you were forgotten,
with tiny bones,
shivering,
i thought my flesh
would keep you still.

i remember
the embodiment of a women,
original sin,
the fruit we drank from.

glorious mornings,
with still light,
pounding fire,
edged along the window pane.

i sang so sullen,
with wings,
inside myself,
no melody could nurture you.

how could burden bless,
such frail convultion?

in all memory,
we still bore no blessing,
to our winter fruit.

mind photograph.

i wish it were easy
to forget your face,
but then the stale blue comes again.
in pictures you radiate,
inside my mind,
the love burned holes,
black holes,
like vacuums inside the earth.
i am form with out color,
sheer innocent,
you loved my nuance,
withered,
paper rays dangling,
spilling words ,
crooked all over you.
with these moments,
held so tight,
nothing came from it,
i thought explosions,
with bursting suns,
our meaning would evaporate,
yet i stagger
on the verge of knowing
that which shall never
be known.
how sublime your secret,
your smile still brilliant in all it's hidden glory,

the ocean view.

the motion of the waves,
crashing edges,
sea foam collecting,
over thin layers
of earth and sand.

bodies drifting,
sea shells,
aqua rock forms,
mermaids silent,
murmurs forgotten.

white noise,
echoes,
the slamming motion,
curling, like spirals
inside themselves.

no where do flowers form,
just dead sea growling,
the moon swirling,
evolving in a time capsule.