Why I Came

I ask myself why I came.

I am bombarded:

answers – a tangle of fire and shame.

I ask myself why I came.

I hold myself through wounded walkways of regret.

I cling to old pieces of paper, on tattered pieces of memories,

and I grip them

and I yell, “One day!”

to no one.

I ask myself why I came.

I rattle off a list of exceptional behaviors,

remarkable achievements,

and noteworthy causes.

I ask myself why I came,

and none of those are it.

I ask myself why I came

and I shudder and sigh,

avoid being looked in the eyes,

avoid looking into my eye,

“I can’t say.”

I lie.

I ask myself why I came,

and the question won’t go away,

and the days pile up in a blaze,

and my words crowd into my ears

and out of my hands,

and all over my fears.

I ask myself why I came…

Touche.

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And Then There Was Life

There was life before and after,
But only after is there ease,
Sweet swaying of the breeze,
Thru my colored foliage.

There was light before and after,
But only after has there been,
A sweet surrender from within,
Illuminating every cell.

There was peace before and after,
But only after is there rest,
Respite bathed in angelic frays of light,
That heals aged wounds.

There was me before and after,
But only after has there been:
A swollen heart, a rattled soul,
A blessed wife, a goddess birthed,
A reason to create, a desire to be better
steady
faithful
true.

There was life before,
But now, there’s you.

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B

I return to you – not you.
All smiles and side eye glances,
You return to me – not me.

Weaving a web of unspoken advances,
I transcribe your language of touch and heat.
I sit through a thick silence
That dances
At the shores of our moored feet.

You seek me – not me,
Any excuse to feel the respite of love,
And,
I love you – not you,
A truth that won’t reveal the extent of its need.

You choose me – not me
And I am suspended between your tongue and your teeth.

I wait for you – not you.

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Ode to Whiskey

Amber colored friend,
Faithful muse and advocate,
How you catch my tinder heart,
Make my limits rip apart.

On my deepest, darkest day,
You surround my wounds.
In my hurting weakest ways,
You seep in to soothe.

Transform my ache;
I celebrate,
You,
My amber colored friend.

And in the hours before dawn,
When haunted I swim with regret,
You gently blur my memories,
Rescue me in silver nets.

Of course, I know,
I am not saved by your allure.
Of course, I know,
Come morning, all my woes I’ll find uncured.

But in these moments,
Before the haze of day,
I am in love with your respite,
My amber colored friend.

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Primitive

Illustrious temptation

find my naked pulse –

sweat dripped,

tongue dipped,

find my naked heart.

Give me everything you dare not admit you gave,

let’s get primitive,

uninhibited,

messy and averse.

Let’s say yes,

shredding,

scalding,

hard nails clawing,

warm flesh.

Give it all and give it now,

Let not a moment pass

drenched in decency.

See, I’ve been far too good,

for far too long,

See, my hunger has become –

A cannibal’s wet dream,

Cold berries and sweet cream,

Lax lips and guttural screams.

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Sailor Blues

Sometimes a minute spans a sea

a tossled

lost

reverie,

marooned above a well worn worry,

a lucid fear

of intimacy.

Aye a sailor

there held fast,

against the fury

of each foul blast –

a frigid spray

of tortured mourn,

a spirit frayed,

a hopeful scorned.

Sometimes a minute spans a sea

a nightingale

illumined breeze,

the faded remnant

of your lips

on the eve

of the suns warm kiss.

Sometimes a minute spans a sea

and lost is aye at its mercy,

counting aye,

the minutes passed,

the love that was,

couldn’t last.

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It’s About

It’s about your scent,
well spent-
hours of laborious
emotional
reconstruction,
recuperation of the eruption,
that left you mangled and missing.
It’s about your touch,
calloused fingers that brush
my leg
with a softness that belies,
the wounds
in your caramel eyes.
And your laughter,
gracious with its presence,
present even when you ache,
for the sake,
of my own alleviation.
It’s about the little things
that add up
to a large sum of wonder,
a small sound turned to thunder,
reverberating
in the barrel of my chest.
It’s about the inexplicable,
incontrovertible and unlikely,
about the love that quietly,
makes itself a throne
in the home
of my heart.

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G

Serendipitous cross examination,
silent eyes
following
loud footsteps.
Palm to shoulder
as you take your leave,
lingering
on my t-shirt sleeve.
Your laughter
fills distraction in me,
your humble eyes
skip over my inquiries.
In the evening,
just us-
so gently
we exist around each other.
Gently,
softly,
oh, so, softly.

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Fireflies

forgotten fireflies
tango on lyre lines
illuminating ghost notes,
played by ghost hands—
a ghost voice from a far off land

forgotten longings
written in forbidden keys,
long lost wanderings
of quiet peace

serenade the sunrise
memories of moments loved,
spell cast
a wishful song of futures
to match

meanwhile,
forgotten fireflies
dance on forgotten keys,
pining after forgotten lovers,
and their remembered leaves

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Faux Fires – A self portrait

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