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.

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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.

December (is a sky uncharted)

grey winter sky
Born atop a barren hill,
amidst dormant trees–
their gnarled fingers protecting
the babe–the fleeting sun
sparked, flashed, then died.
With a gust of wind, the
snow rolled o’er fields,
meadows, forests, ponds
and settled in my sight.
The city is far from me.
There are many names for
what we have.
We can call out to one another,
but we have no words, just
feelings, just touches.
I praise the silence;
I cherish you.

Diluted morning, a time for vespers.
A time for night to slither to
the other side, but slowly, please
ever so slowly, I beg.
I step outside-the breath coiling
from chapped lips-and seek
deliverance from the malaise of
the dollar and coin.
I want to reach into the expanse
and pull the colour, spread it across
my body so that maybe, just maybe,
I’ll be a muse unto myself.
But, with the smoke and breath dissipating,
I return to your warmth and watch you
sleep ever so peacefully.
I’ll take that over anything.

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.
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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.

I’m convinced

I’m convinced that I would save the world
for you; save this transient way of being
so that we can enjoy the dance
few know, few touch, few speak of.

I’m convinced that I would sever
the throat of time if it would mean
having you in my arms forever,
if it meant facing the threat of death
head on with silent fervor, fatal intent-
silver blade held firm, clutched in white knuckled fists;
I overthrow the angels in morning light,
but I can’t take God up on his offer.

I’m convinced that you are one universe,
connecting with my own to form a
grand design half revealed.
I’m convinced that you are a revelation.