love

ENOUGH, AS I AM

Enough, as I am.
All of me, a star made of silver upon a chest of self-love,
sherriffing whole as I can whilst empty –
lapelled to this shirt like a butterfly with cotton wings.

TICKING (HAIKU)

Our love,
a time bomb.
Short wick.

SHOW UP

Show up
with pieces of my name at your chest
and I will promise you
that all its letters
in any order
will write you through this fire
melting both our hearts

RISK

the only danger with
falling in love
is
being thrown
selfishly
out of it

AS TO THIS HARVEST

As to this harvest,
your name tills my fertile field
plummeting deep into the earthen core of my heart
turning this silence of organic surrender
into the proud and patient
seedling of enduring
love
.

ELK HORN

My second sight
is now accustomed
to washing the stains
of misshapen understanding
from the elk horn
of your bound leather axe
plunged deeply into
the heart that continues
to love you: mine

LEVY

i forgive you
for not wanting
to spoil the darkness
that consumes you
with the love i bring

but surely

the toll for dishevelment
is worth the expense
to climb out
of its jaws

AND THEN WE WEREN’T

we were pointless once;
that is to say
we were always in growth and there was never a time
when what we had would stop
to be what we
‘had’

our map didn’t come with those flags to pin and say
– this is us –
or
– we are here –
we were the whole map
we were every map
and then we weren’t

now
we are no longer pointless;
that is to say
we are ‘that point’
the marked X
(without the treasure)
the one that simply says
– here –
and my heart is this map
and it is pierced and leaking
and all that it contains
will run like ink across the world
our red flag standing on end
and flying alone
to remind me

SECOND PRIORITY

Second Priority

Love is not being second priority on a list.

MOBIUS

He said those words
– I can’t –
and my heart fell out of its pocket
like there was a hole in my
chest and
that very last stitch
heard him speak.
Our mobius strip
lay suddenly flattened
– I on one side and he on the reverse –
like destiny and distance
were the same bridge
too destroyed to gap.

Now I want life to end
as I lean down to hold
what’s left in my lungs,
my final breath leaving as
I fall beyond the edge
where
by some miracle
this leap of faith will save me,
felled atop arms that wait beneath
where
the only strip remaining
is the one in which
we remove each other’s clothing.

TRULY FREE

The free are simply surrounded by ignorance; the truly free, bound by love.

MAGNETIC OCEANS

Her honey’d hole a wet, wet dream,
her liquid gold a silky stream where
sliding thrusts were mounted, hot,
and arching bodies dared not stop;
where moments flowed into the next
and both were drowned in comfort sex
and eyes were riding each one’s soul –
his quest for freedom her only goal

And rather than come up for air
this fiery passion sank them there,
(as both an anchor, twined like rope,
and locked in pelvic gyroscope)
her swollen thighs around his waist,
her nails embedded, tongues embraced –
and fishing for that final taste
with every touch, in every place

Fused as one with melting cores,
(her curling toes demanding more)
his urgent need to plunge her rightly
sealed them closed with hearts bound tight
and all around them
walls of water washed their sins
in quickening waves that locked them in
with swats and spanks
and gentle yanks and saucy stares
while skin-to-skin and hand to soaking hair

Like rolling tide to rocky shore,
(her legs thrown wide, his pelvis sore)
the crash and grind of karmic ties
were deep explored and fast revived
(with whispered greed they came alive)
awash with dirty unrestraint
they thrived, unreined, with fate to blame,
their pulsing needs through every vein
infused as one and charged by same:
her wild release on which he came, an ocean,
calling out her name

NORTH SOUTH (HAIKU)

Magnetic vision,
quite the purpose for searching:
two hearts finding one

CHANCE TO TASTE (HAIKU)

Crawl to hungry arms:
inside, the love that builds dreams –
taste the chance to fly.

THE SOLD SOUL

It slips,
– this new surrender –
past the rusted locks and caution signs
and crumbling roads of cul–de–sacs
and vacant lots
and open tracks
to freedom:

where conundrums play and secrets huddle
and bodies lie
and youth decays
– retired past expired days –

Engraved in time,
cocoons and shells and nests are hung
and quartered for a chance at love:

the way ahead
receding,
half behind and part enslaved
(a mask of promise worn from sale of soul to lucid grave)

And
– like an avalanche –
it falls in quick pursuit, this
multiverse of filthy guise
with liquid paths and dangerous eyes
and ruby coloured blushing cheeks
where
every lover’s heart of sponge or stone
descends to meet while
heating
for another touch
beneath the fraying sheets

And all the while
– in haste, not glory –
time, undressing moments as it passes,
flies away,
incarnate instead as flesh (again)
with wings that only beat
to re-transcend and scar
and mend
in pounding, swollen, rhythms
C
L
A
W
I
N
G
for the warmth of distance:
**ROARING**
for a hurried end

So,

spaced between the
t i c k s and t o c k s
of darting pain
and thrusting cocks,
of cunts aroused, abused, and shamed,
a silence, near, deploys again:

the ever-caged
and emptied song
of lustful shame
and mouths and tongues
declining, fast at last
to go
from whence it came
to soak the mind
and strip the soul
and blur the lines
of time and toll

buried
in surrender,
whole

KNIT

Knot

You could be made of
the fanciest yarn that
binds forever
your empty space
and you would still
knit me a reason
to love everything
you were actually not

THOUGHT #457

Love is the poetry of direction.

MUCH TO MY DESPAIR

this ice cream love
– sweet –
and filled with cold desire

drips

through the hole
in my sugared cone

the very thing that
once had held my love within
is now partaking
in the letting go
of its own contents

LIQUID LOVE

some of us
melt like snow
on a warm morning

others freeze

at the chance of love

THOUGHT #362

The father of fortune is the mother of love.

THOUGHT #177

The barrier around one’s heart should exist only to contain the over-spill.

THOUGHT #170

Love is the ultimate vision: an invisible mirage to the naked eye, and a naked lens to the invisible one.

THOUGHT #136

The limitless freedom of forever is bound only by the heart that encloses it.

THOUGHT #112

The greatest treasure is the one contained inside one’s chest.

THOUGHT #49

One is unaware of seeking self when blinded in the search for love.

EVEN BEYOND DEATH

Concurrent sessions of geometric,
(explicitly whimsical)
liquified squares
arose from patterned nether regions
of ‘somewhere else out there’
in smothering particles of
truest radiant flares.

And sat I upon the visible dreamscape space
that existed no-where
but outside of my illusory plan,
and cherished, I, the pictorial preempted
in the moment of my after-life birthing
of which polite demand
again beseeched me ride.

Yet not a one of the graphical displays
(filtered fresh from infinite dimensions)
approached me like a complete whole
– neither a partial whole –
but as a synchronistic sphere
of clouded systemic rumours
made to halt to keen attention
but one light-bodied and mirrored virtual soul
such as the sporadically alter-egoed I.

Flowing from one source to the next,
beyond the simple measure of a single point
a blast of knowing flagged a recognition spark
that folded time and space
betwixt one universal structure
unto the
(not unlike symbiotic)
self instructioned mind –
and so to Mind Exist described another route
for Love to spread It’s fastest cycle;
birthing cells and growing rife,
to yield a fresh creation.

And hereupon I watch/ed with hunger
that which transpired time before,
providing what is harnessed now,
with will to still repeat again,
and so again to knot forever
into chains of new momentum;
weaving,
waving,
slipping through and marking too,
another path to God.

I WOULD, I DO

If I could depict the substance of my heart,
this mass of space (this massive room!)
would brand a masterpiece of art.

If I could write,
the composition would neither start nor end,
the meaning lost on tongues of lovers.
Yet, spoken soft or written proud
your name would glow its fame out loud:
expression shining strong and sound.

If I could activate emotion,
unhindered,
I would sway in craze,
but movement knows not this commotion;
impeded,
but just,
with solitary devotion,
I mind the thoughts.

In silence I thrill.

I love you still.