I don't want to leave this place

I don't want to get up from this place

This counterfeit semblance of peace

This place of non action 

In my bed

With thoughts of you

This place that shouts all the mistakes I've ever made in my life

....This place of you

This place of your eyes

This place that if real

Is completely silently, featurelessly, perfect

Perfect

Never sharp

Never cruel

It does not talk

It does not judge

No this place of you and me

And your blue eyes

Just is.

This round ball I hold in my head

Is what will never be

But at least

It's you

I had a pastor growing up that said people with incurable disease such as cancer would crawl through human excrement to find relief. I've had the exquisite privilege to be able to be on both sides of that coin. To not only have an incurable pain that I'd crawl through human excrement to relieve but also .... to be with you.

That's what I meant to say

They say you look at the hands of someone you love, first.
I noticed your small hands the second I met you
Sweeping down to an unannounced sweet crescendo
Mentioned to me shortly after you birthday that fall
I love you
I love you
I love you
That sweeping savior of feeling
Like transcendental  emitted peace and happiness in one moment of eye contact
In the crowd of the dying

Him

And my thoughts return to him
Down his back
Across his eyes
Maybe a touch to the shoulders,
Some hair slipped between two fingers
A slow fingering of the fleshy canal of his spine.
Irregardless of the look, thought or illusion,
It's the truth
that he does
and does not
fill this room

And Maybe I Don't Mean Any of this........

I do yoga in the morning, instead of mope. I read Sartre, instead of cry. Actions come easier now, when thoughts were all I had. I'm at place, full of live anger and partial acceptance. Which is better than hoping.
Because I'm tired of waiting, I'm tired of wanting, I'm tired of hoping. I'm really just tired, instead of me. Because when a person becomes everything to you, and they're never around to see it, negligence is all you have in your hands to show time what you've accomplished. So I've decided to let you go. Tell myself to stop hoping. And tell my feet to start walking. And let my head do the thinking. Instead of a maybe . Or a possibility. Or the what if.
No, just the action....
Because the one thing this world requires of you, and it's not negligence, it's you.
For a change, I want you to come to me, and remember how special it is that I actually love you. Because nobody ever asked me to. I chose that for sure. And now I'm choosing this.

Beautiful

"I love your innocent, decent face."
They would say, with a hint of pretension that engages them in snarls of their lips. Pushing up their own confidence in making it wrong for you to be the most beautiful man in the world. Be my most beautiful man in the world.

Worthless

When I can't be me with you
I wonder if you ever knew
How we touch
In my dreams
With all the love
I'll never see
Look
Only to long
For what
I could live on
Like a knife
to my throat
If I ever left you
Alone
For only I will know
Everyday
What You'll forget
Once I say

Flowers

The flowers kept coming for exactly fifty days until the middle of a miserable night she came dripping on his door step, and a few unlayerings later into his home, their lips pressed together. She did not know whether to stay or to go in the morning but he knew he woke up without her. And as she watched swift light poles pass by in the crisp morning bus commute she had wondered what she had really done. She wanted to go back a thousand times but had he figured her out?

Oh Where Have you Been

Oh beloved where have you gone?
I am getting older
And I don’t know where you have gone
Take my hand if you can show me
I’m standing here at your heart's ache
I’ve loved you all along
You know my name but dare not speak it to your lips
And at the end of the woods
And at the end of your stare
You will find me
Just where I have always been
In your crying arms
Near your crying eyes
So that you might know where I have been, oh beloved

Him

There is no way I am going to give up on this belief I hold inside my frozen chest, cold as lake water, that he will return to me. He languishes on my heart and mind as an avid art collector of my past, as an echoing exhibitor inside a dismal spirit. If I were to loose him, all conciseness would be lost to a demise of my hope. I love him as life and I cannot learn any other way of breathing except through the delicate tissue of these lungs—neither can I learn to love except through these erratic thoughts of him.

Infamy

I do not understand how to live in a world where a day can live in infamy--but only within my heart and mind, not your cold, clenched chest nor mind.

Sea

The love of another is as though the sea crashing down upon the farthest rock on the shore. Spraying it occasionally and lightly. Letting it corrode under your salty touch. Mimicking endearments of those intrusted to touch it's core. Letting go gently the jealously of the birds allowed to lap up your touch. Making it too late and too early each time to admire it's own daunting feel of you. Knowing nothing of it's goings or comings seeing only what is to be seen between two short bursts of an everlasting pure joy and acquiesce. And yet coming back again and again to his shores, no matter how briefly, to swim in it's shadow, to bath in it's edges to take glee in it's existence and return to a full embodiment of disappointment in your desolate sea.

 

Love of a Lifetime

When sunlight hits her moonstruck eyes
My escape slips inside
I hide, I play
I fantasize
We mate like a butterfly's wings symmetry
Oh! How we collide!
She echoes a thousand epiphanies
We lay ourselves down amongst
Our broken dreams
I spend myself here
A peak,
A pier,
I look over the lip
As our two silhouettes shrivel and split.