Red-tailed Comet
Loving the
colorfully
complex man
(read: quietly
tortured man)
is akin to
beholding the
magnificence of
a hummingbird:
Vibrating grace.
Beauty obscured.
Breath suspended.
Gone.
Proteus
A snarling beast
with sharp white teeth—
fangs—foaming at your heels.
He will consume you.
A ranting tyrant
relentlessly cruel,
ruthlessly cold.
He will sink you.
A deviant devil
devouring clouds, and
howling at the moon.
He will drown you.
A bear, A brute,
a writhing,
seething sea.
He will break you…
at least,
he will try to.
Here. Now.
Here. Now.
In the shade
of mountains
I hide away—
bathing in silence
washing in peace.
Here. Now.
Ancient sapience
drifts in the wind,
“the present
vanishes
the second
it begins.”
Here. Now.
Primal advisors
urge I practice
the love of
letting go;
I understand
this to begin
with you.
Here.
Now.
Feral Heart
Somewhere between
the great canyon
and the cacti
he confessed
he could not love her.
Somewhere between
the prickly pear
and a crumbling earth
Her shaky voice replied,
“I’ll be just fine.”
Now she is wild
like the desert,
feral as a
coyote’s cry;
knowing there’s
little distinction
between the
plight of hunger
and the fight
of heart.
unrequited
Meticulously I consider
the placement of
these fragile, little letters
precariously perched
upon delicate,
slightly unsteady serifs.
Diligently deliberating
the most effective
configuration–
the most capable
combination–to convey
this quiver in my bones,
this shudder in my lungs,
the sound of a heart breaking.
Picking through the
shattered pieces,
these tiny fragments
of mine, i find
a comma shaped splinter.
Perhaps it belongs here
,
a tiny pause,
a shallow breath,
a metaphor for
you.
Possibly it better serves
lingering like an apostrophe,
an indication of possession,
manifestation of a merging,
which,
we are not.
On second thought,
how does one
effectually punctuate
absence of affection,
the reticence in rejection,
unrequited love?
Yes, of course,
the self-effacing ellipsis
soundlessly signifying:
lack of substance…
the weight of hanging space…
and words I’ll never say
…
Of Men and Moons
Only a sliver
is visible tonight,
the balance
cloaked in shadow
and dark truth.
Yet I tell you,
you’re lovely this way:
clad in contradiction,
draped in shade;
a lucent slice
tracing clouds
in silver ice.
The Lost Boy
Her absolute
inability to keep
her hands
to herself;
that, he reflected,
marked the moment:
the sudden death
of his affection.
Now his hands
are everyone’s—
and no one’s.
He absolutely
embodies
her indiscretions;
wounding in fashion,
matching with precision
the patterns
of his scars.
This is his un-doing:
his choosing to remain
the lost boy.
Satellites
You are only
constant in your
changing.
Your waxing,
waning, and
inevitable fading.
But, you return;
open faced
and bright,
drowning stars
setting fire
to night.
You and I,
we hang in space
tethered
by some
invisible thing.
Our orbiting bodies
draw ever near,
your surface swells,
my seas surge.
I’m your perilune.
You’re my perigee.
And in this proximity
we bring a simple
sort of symmetry
to the vast
black
of nothing.
Yes, this is
eternal.
Yes, this is
fleeting.
We are only
constant in our
wavering.
Truth and Consequence.
His eyes
were the kind
you saw your
death in.
Lips of
oleander
laced in
nectar
to disguise
the devil’s
kiss.
To hell with
consequence.
The Adventurer
I am your adventurer,
eager to explore
the hot springs,
cool creeks, and
windswept fields
of your skin.
Dips and ridges
of your ribs
become my guide;
peaks and valleys
of your spine—
my wilderness.
At the pools
of your lips,
I am nourished
and refreshed.
I am your adventurer
shaped to mark
causes and
their affects.
With my head
on your heartbeat
and my fingers
along your neck,
I trace a path, and
see to my work.