Let the music play

If we could put it to music
it would be your fingers
on my fine tunes,

my lyrics
finding you
in chords that could not exist
before this night.

We choose staying in,
underneath a thick haze
of purple and green.
Your eyes try to match me;
our deepest rhythms
sinking,
flowing,
dancing

naturally. We slip back –
your tongue laced with black
magic –
and I,

knee deep in daydream,
wrapped up in
this dimension,
several chords playing,
all of them in key.

Gripping to the cadence,
dripping with luxury,
we summon our past lives

we consult the angels
of mercy

and forgive every sinner
who ever has sinned.

This is our music.
Saturday night flat –
my bottle of Jack,
your smoke gliding
down my deep
throat

Like clockwork
here we go.

Helios Unconquered

a blue bird twines
of wire
where sunflowers grow

your air is twisted
like she
unthawed
in your
affection

an aroma far
from lonely

i find dizziness
underneath
liquor

we are empty
never simultaneously

the glass is warped
i’ve stood here forever
waiting
for the
freeze to pass

Helios in
a winter solstice
unconquered

I am fire and light

come to me

carnal

this does not belong
in a book
or on paper
it should be
blazing across
each existential universe

your immaculate
humility stumbles
my gesture

bathe me in
every movement
that has made
you a man

every echo
is wild

pulsating

carnal

I am

this is what happens when you’re in love

you feel like an ocean
in my arms a tidal wave

I have been surfing on
summer since you

found me black shadowed
after trekking winter’s
long desert

waiting for you to
hyphenate me with

your time and your precious
cargo down below a

vacant heart at the time
but now is a roaring lion

ready to claim
this undiscovered body

prepared for your arrival.

What Happens To Love

A blank sky starts out
and just like that
like embers flicking
popping
rising
from a camp fire

a Universe is on fire
holding hands
twisting fingertips
underneath precious metals
of an Earth

for the sake of intimacy
on black heels
in a month
like August
like seductive and
sweet

she is a golden pear
dangling fresh in the night air
all men have met her
at some point
she becomes bitter

after the picking
after the tasting
after familiarity increases

In The End

In the end, all that sleeps against your fresh
youth is an echo.

After the last words slide across instant
regret, the only thing that spends Saturday
mornings with you are the bones
of an old Review.

After tonight,
just remember the way your fingers interlocked
like you figured out a combination
of perfect timing
and lust.

Just remember, that’s all it was.

I Met You Today

No pillow comes without residue.
At our age, blessings come in small forms…

hands cradled together,
words buried in sweet breath,
unconditional nights,
uncontrolled…..

Tell me about your exploration, about
fingertips trickling down
courage….
spines do not break easily, do they?

I met you today,
I see your influence and result,
you probably know
that I see through blue eyes,

saturated by the way your fingertips move.

When The Fire Burns

I haven’t drank you for an hour,
or swallowed the sharks
swimming in your pale
manhood.
The road gobbled me up and
I do not miss your cancerous tongue,
all I smell is rubber
and all I want is the moon
to take me to bed
where I know what lives under
the sheets.

I know the blank ceiling page
and the rotation of the clouds,
I know how I cycle down,
a tornado scripture
burning my steeple to ash.

I translate you into languages unknown,
too complex for me to read,
the devil’s tongue,
a serpents spit,
a good muse when the fire rumbles
me to numbness.

Love Letter

Amaranth, on my back, off

the edge of life.
Dangling cords fall
like snakes, I hanged them
there to dry
me out. With you,

it is cold.
I can’t say that. I miss you,
but I do not. Have you
been tempted to rip her
skin off and put mine on?

My back is off
the edge, now
life is seeping through
my toes, amaranth
dangling, a love letter

for you.

Butterfly Wings

Her conversation created craters
around fine dining – she
is one glass too many,
I read her like wine before we sat down.
The light was getting too frisky
when she reached South for
my heart.

Her eyes crossed like a thieves fingers,
pure white bled through.
“I thought I knew you” she said
as I mopped up the puddle of hatred on the floor.

More often than not, I’d plant false
seeds of little baby heartlings
where the girls’ pretty fingers would reach,
but now I have turned.
My shape is funny. It fits like
butterfly wings.
Honest. Divine. Free.