Beautiful

Beautiful inner.
Beautiful around her.
Beautiful all the days that pass beside her.

Beautiful is the air she breathes.
Beautiful the youth she seeds.
Beautiful in how she gives, how she sacrifices, how she pleases.

Beautiful skin against mine.
Beautiful skin against time.
Beautiful skin against breath, tongue, lips, skin, imperfectly aligned.

Beautiful the couch we share made for one.
Beautiful is the waking when sleep is done.
Beautiful my eyes opening to hers, before first light, before first bird song is sung.

Beautiful strength that binds life together.
Beautiful tears that shift my weather.
Beautiful like the days last gasp before it fades into heather.

Beautiful love of every child breath.
Beautiful to every soul in debt.
Beautiful in every moment, minute, passing, in every heart beating toward death.

Beautiful gentle presence.
Beautiful evocative fragrance.
Beautiful like moon-shadows that remind night that light is never absent.

Beautiful together.
Beautiful remember.
Beautiful today, tomorrow and all the days to come after.

Beautiful cuddly.
Beautiful hugs me.
Beautiful hands wrapped in mine, warm silk, touching smoothly.

Beautiful my history in her eyes.

Beautiful our history in her heart.

Beautiful beauty, beautiful time,
Beautiful happy that lives in every breath, every touch, every heart beating chime.

Summer Thoughts

I love to saturate myself in the
melancholy of the winter still,
glancing through the dark at
the frozen moon.

My summer thoughts attempt
to melt away the icy branch
the moon is perched upon,
but instead, dissolve into the
numbess this cold has become.

The Fix

I find that at the immediate moment after
masturbation,
I am isolate.
All connections to my heart are severed,
ridding me of passion, love and spontaneity.
I am a man of pure logic dictated by rationale.
I may be perceived then as brutally cold and apathetic for
Nothing can affect me. My life is no longer an experience,
but an event attended by an indifferent observer,
uninvolved and distant.
My mind is cleansed, embraced by reason,
perspective and control restored.
I am no longer docile to faith or impulse,
but to sense and practicality.
The death of the Romantic gives rise to the
Realist.
My emotions numbed, my mind acute.
Life, its purposes, its goals,
is distinctly clear, clouded no more.
The effect is fading.
I think I will go and masturbate again.

Night Walkers

Sometimes I see them in the afternoon, sometimes,

though their time is the night.

They slice the afternoon with a scent too sweet for others,
stumbling through stagnant air with directionless determination.

It is startling to see them in the daylight.

Their time is the night.

We are safe in sleep while they roam the dreaming hours.
They dream only of dreams. Hiding away, lurking in
alleys hidden from our minds. Places left alone.
They stay there so as not to affront us. We have standards.

How considerate of them to keep a distance, though never far enough.
It should be no problem though.

Their time is the night.

Winter

I blew in clouds that placed a winter
In everyone I saw,
And that winter blew in a snow that froze
Everything I am.

Empty Pillow

Every so often, the thought of her passes
Through my mind, and I am there with her
Under that quilted belly of gray sky,
The soft crunch of cold faded earth,
And in between… us, dissecting the plane,
Lingering in the perpetual dusk of autumn
Where memory with its visceral decay
Can no longer hold, like winter branches,
Truth, that awoke from that moment,
But now only sleeps atop the empty pillow
Beside me that no longer
Holds her scent.

Transcendence

A humpback cloud, solitary, floated
As a silhouette through the twilight.
Beneath, slumbering sailboats in the still
Lake which reflects the quiet of the sky.
I become quiet.
The pendulous chiming of the masts, hypnotic,
Sway my mind like water.

The Darkness is radiant and revealing.

I am that cloud, looking down
On those boats that see only
The shadow of my belly.
I look down at the water to see
the stars above me.
The stars gaze at the water
to see the undersurface of things below them.

For a moment, we are all connected through reflection,
Until I pass onto solid ground and feel my feet again.