In a loud world
my heart
is a calm chapel
lying somewhere
on a green hill
where birds sing
and streams murmur
as your voice
inside of me wanders
like incense
like prayer
like the prophecy of poetry
~
Cracks
where moss grows,
the chipped lips
of the cup that once
flowed with our wine,
burned hot with our tea
as we made poetry.
~
Sometimes I touch you
and this touch
swells my heart
in rivers of poetry;
manhood?—
rooting myself deeper
in the sanctity
of this touch,
annihilated as your being
becomes my heart’s poetry,
swimming inside
your throbbing sea of light.
~
A fiery death,
a moth’s death,
in her kiss I feel
the boundless force of life.
~
Poetry has always been a way to polish your face in my heart, to bring its light to a greater shining in my soul, my life.
~
Dawn,
I wake up drowning
in a sea of your sighs,
your breath
a shawl curled
around the limbs
of the world,
its heat
rising from the earth,
raining from the sky.
~
Traversing
the wet ponds of night
her shewolf howl
arrives at dawn,
a tremor shaking
the sea of sleep,
a primal bite
in the flesh of poetry.
~
Her fragrance
an assassin’s knife
stealing through the night,
the fire of its steel
burning against my neck,
blazing the dark forest
of desire and poetry.
~
Her skin absorbs his words
like water the light
as she fills with the glow
of his states of mind,
the wine of his poetry.
Rooted in Love 