thorns

your eyes are open &

full of the feast of my flesh.

I am a bitter fruit

disguised by sweet &

fragrant flowers

but you only imagine

unfolding my petals

one by one…

“She Loves me.”

“She Loves me not”

you want to hold me,

pluck me apart.

but then you’ll blame me

for my thorns

when you’re pricked.

I’m sorry if it’s painful.

consider that

I never asked to be picked,

& your desire is transient.

I am not what you’re looking for.

belief

I have a friend, who is a God.

& although neither of us believe

in that kind of thing,

I swear I’m nearly converted.

He emanates light & beauty & Love

so much,

that I would gladly kneel in worship,

throw my hands up in praise,

“Hallelujah”

or lay down my life,

to defend my belief in him.

But he is a God, who doesn’t know it.

He is, no less, than all of the Heavens

and still, even more

than that.

whispers

My nephew whispers

when he speaks

softly, of pirate ships

& playroom discoveries.

His lips,

tickle my ears

with his conspiratorial telling.

And my bewildered sister asks,

“Why is he always whispering?”

I can only smile.

“When you are young & still,

know all the wonders of the Universe

it is, most certainly,

a secret.”

fragments of light

this is what remains.

fragments of light,

and nothing more.

yet somehow laughter

hangs here

still, like a thick smoke

in the air.

& passion tingles upon

our fingertips

softly tracing out,

their flesh memories.

while bitten tongues retain the taste

of sweetly swollen lips

& lush forbidden fruits.

what once was lingers

on the fringe of

fragile hearts

but…

there are only fragments of light here

we must fumble

through this dark.

desolation

Its strange
(in such a brief time)
How you had written your
self, all over my life.
How, now,
even the simple things
bring
memories of you.
Your crooked smile growing
in the corner of my eye.
The ghosts of your fingers on my skin.
Your smell still lingering on clothing.
Tears and soap
can only wash away
so much.
Your absence
is all around me.
How painful it is
to try to enjoy
my favorite
films. novels. songs.
they are all alive
and screaming out
your name.
Like dusty signs that read
"He was here. Now he is gone."

a funeral of sorts

I wasn't ready for that flood

of emotions,

(but no one ever is)

as I stood there staring

at the lifeless body

of your empty house.

Only days ago, it was alive

& filled with our breath.

Our laughter

was ringing through it.

But now,

it is only a shell,

sullen & silent.

except for my echoing

sorrow

in mourning

for all that is lost.