The whirring, the flash of headlights, and us

There’s something profound
about train whistles in
the dead of night;
two lonesome calls
resounding, something
striking
as I lie next to you,
stroking your soft body
in the silence after
making love, tracing
my fingers in the shape
of petals because
your skin-when I touch it-
feels like lilies.
The rush of the wheels,
the mechanized churning,
in the distance sounds
like wind winding past the
suburban city streets.
I sigh, and you sigh too,
but I sigh because you are
beautiful, and you sigh
because you are contentedly
trying to sleep.

A Dangerous Heart/Notion

You hold a profoundness in
your eyes; I know there’s
something locked behind them,
and I intend to decipher it
someday because you will
open yourself to me as we
pry open our chests and
exchange hearts.

I know you have questions,
but you seem never to ask
as though you have no words,
or you’re waiting on me to
tell you what lies within.
Or maybe you don’t want to know.
Are you fearful of what you’ll discover?
You flip past the pages,
evading the piecing-together of
these fragmented chapters.
And maybe it’s better this way.
I am a chronicling of dangerous
hearts, but mine is the
most dangerous heart of all.

A Swelling Heart’s Confessional

You materialize before me-
and I welcome the vision-
for when slumber heaves
its weight upon my bones,
I seek your warmth,
search for the curls,
the softness of your tender body,
your scent-that fragrance
only you could emit, my
unearthly flower.

In this dark sanctuary,
I see those precious aquamarines
that when they open, and I’ve been
watching, waiting to see them look
into my own soul, I feel Earth stop
and only your and my heart beat.
And I cradle your head, stroke your cheek,
run my curious fingers through your
ashen hair til silver dust blankets the room.
I can only conjure the nectar of your kiss;
ambrosia laced petals that I feel will make
my heart burst when I press my violent
mouth against this velveteen paradise,
and sample time and time again the
essence of life fulfilled.

O, the dream only impersonates
the true figure standing so near,
slipping into my space, my soul;
whirling into my being and making
me tremble at the thought of
being in the presence of
a design I could not
hope to construe.
A lover, a friend,
a soulmate…
you must be here
to save me from myself.

Who knows this light?

Who knows this light?/It is warm/like cats coiled in laps/like sunlight fresh from the morning/like summers drenched in dew/like pastries from the oven/like hot metal red and smoking/like embraces openly welcomed/like your body next to mine.
Who knows this light?/Me and you/if no one else.

how can I confess?

What light from distant moons breaks?
the essence bleeds; its blood a
coiled oil: red-black with pain
and understanding. I touch
the rose, colouring the petals
soft with the scarlets of my soul.
What words I carry shift and
contort–how can I confess
to the hearts above?
The fibres of your soul are
strung with mine;together
we are a tapestry purposed, remembered.
fractal rose

Nearer

The vermilion of your soul
glows brighter than fire;
I want the warmth, your warmth,
because
it
hides me in a cloak of safety,
shields me from myself.

You seem so near, so near,
let me come near to you too.
Come into my heart, so that
I may enter yours.
LoversEmbrace

Was it life before you?

Tenderly, softly, I kiss your
sweet, slumbering body;
your chest rises and falls
like waves upon an ocean,
and I hear your breaths,
counting mine in syncopated ins
and outs.
My hands trace your silken skin,
the contours in the dim,
moonlit bed so near
to me I can only close
my eyes and pray
wordlessly to the powers that be,
thanking them/it/someone/anything? for
placing you in my life. Was it
life before you?
Then I nestle my face next to yours.
You dream, you peacefully dream.
I hold your face as if it was glass,
shut my eyes for a 4:00 vesper,
genuflecting to myself with
a rosary of hearts in my hand.
Mother Mary, anyone, anything that
cares to listen…even if the power
is only within me, only me:
I pray to you, make this man
my husband.

I’m Fine (Never Been Better)

I sometimes wake before dawn,
pacing the tiled, cold floors with a
slow, silent step, searching for the
piece, the object to settle me back
into dark sleep, into the dream.

Thoughts: they are the persons
that speak and watch as I pull
back the veil, peering meekly
beyond the tattered strands of
hearts, sinews of faces long left silent.
When the reflection is shown in the
holed out concrete, I can see only
myself with a figure made ever clearer;
the blight that clings to my bones
dies and withers in the light.

Here comes the blue, the red,
the gold mingling in a bruised sky.
He must be here in me.
I’ve never been better, never
been happier to know
that there is something more
promising than I’ve ever known.
Come here, whispering moth:
let me tell you the good news.