i have been to nice restaurants
i have tried exotic foods
i have savored rich, truffle oil
and tasted tips of cream and frothed milk

i have waited an hour for the best plate in town
i have sat with thick, fine linens on my lap
and the clink of silver on china plates
is not a thing i’ve forgot

little bites, these are
exquisite snacks and culinary destinations
on a long table of past and future

and i am grateful for them all

but more thankful, still
for a truer weight of satiation:

i’d rather have
coffee and toast
on a grey, October morning
shared in a dimly lit kitchen

with you.

i wonder why movies and books and epic stories are always about people falling in love.

it seems to need no aid or inspiration.
it seems to happen
in spite of ourselves
and our best attempts at diverting
it’s hold on our hearts.

i wonder, where are the movies and books and epic stories about people falling back in love?

where are the chronicles of love after we fall into it?
where is the bible of perseverance?

where does a love go when left alone with only the memory of life shared?
as if, because it once was,
it will always be…

but even mountains change their shape.

“shared” is not the same
as sharing still.
to say, “look, look at all that was done in each other’s arms”
is to hold a photograph.

evidence of eaten meat does not a full belly make.

what eye does she hold when he looks down?
and where can he grasp if she keeps moving ‘round?
what mystery can be solved in one you know so well
and yet understand
so very
very
little?

what story can be written now?
the pages are wearing thin
and the reader grows weary
by the heaviness of words
and the absence of hope in tomorrow
and the dream that still sleeps in us today.

i can hear what you’re not saying
it thunders in my ears

and all the words i’m holding in
bind novels in arrears

a look between our speechless faces
exchange the heart and gaze replaces

all that we can’t say.

there’s so much we just can’t say.

and sometimes, that’s okay.

‘cause i can feel what really matters
i can sense it in my spine

even silence, thick and weighted,
can’t deafen my heart’s mind

all that i should wish to tell you
whispers through my skin unto you

and you can feel it’s true.

it’s time to say what’s really true.

is there an ocean in you, too?

·

my lover is the breeze
that breathes against my neck.

he is the sun that warms my shoulder
on crisp, autumnal days
he showers me in gold and heat
and bathes me in his rays.

my lover is as loyal
as the seasons of the year.

he returns with natural bounty
hiding treasures at my door.
he takes all that he wants from me
and leaves me filled with more.

·

he is the tide I rise and fall in.
he is the oxygen I drown in.

·

my lover is the sculptor
of my shape and silhouette.

he takes the pink from evening’s sky
and puts it on my cheek.

he takes the green from woodland’s pine
and sets it in my eye.

from the heavens he plucks freckles,
and decorates my chin,

and from the snow-capped mountains,
he carves and smoothes my skin

·

he is my craved sovereign
and I am his delight.
he is the moon that stares back at me
and illuminates my night.

·

though I have never seen him, thus,
and he has not seen me
all this does course between us
and we’ll forever be

the match that needs no flint
and the ember without air
white stone, igneous and glowing –
alive, immutable, and rare.

·

one cannot uncut the skin
sometimes you can’t start again.

one cannot recant the word
once it’s meaning has been heard.

one does not fall upwards.

so let it bleed
and let it break
flood the shores beneath it’s wake

and be done…

truth is the injury and healer.

‘cause wounds knit back though marked for good
and breaks rebuild with limp withstood
and waters recede and curb their wrath
and there is always an aftermath.

stand

and stand with weathered beauty
for all that you’ve survived.

stand

and stand with trial’s bounty
and the joy of life, revived.

here come the arrows
here come the darts
here come the wounds
to find their fated marks

here come the blows
here comes the weight
here comes the fear
to try and dissipate

the strength you are
the power you store
the vigor you hold
forevermore

and they shall not win –
they’ll not prevail –
don’t gaze at the hoist
of their treacherous sail

for shields are made
and armor is worn
to thicken the skin
and sturdy the form

you’ve been made true
you’re fortified with toil
you’re embalmed in word
and anointed with oil

and all the spears and tears and the endurance of ugly years
will not break you today,

not under me –
not thus gloved –
for I shelter in metal
my heart and beloved.

some would argue
i should have turned around
at the first drop
that hit my cheek

some would say
that the flashes in the distance –
hazard whites on darkening blues –

were my warning

to stay home,
go back in,
keep under glass.

i don’t know if it was the addictive little crunch of gravel beneath my feet
that kept me going

i don’t know if it was the cry of the bawling windmill –
siren song in metal spires –
that propelled me on

i don’t know if it was the thunder
that rolled above
like a harmony to the hunger inside me

but i just kept on walking.

i walked into a storm and found the wind to be at my back

i walked into the rain and found it to be cleansing

i walked over wet stone and found

it forgave my missteps

and erased my wrong footings

and stayed the hopeful emissary to my every next step.

∴

dress me in dark waters
hold me in the deep
in secret, sweet, and scented places
cage me in your keep

there I dance
with weightless grace
veiled and free
in endless space

place your hand upon my back
and brace my fervent spin
let me bend, drawn out, and down,
and raise me up, again

drive my feet
and set my pace
guide my hands
and lift my face

persuade me
invade me
you’ve carefully handmade me
induce me
seduce me
electrify, conduce me

lead –

or let me see –
the dance
that you would dance

if you could dance through me.

∴