Dated love letters

It has come to my attention
I haven't always loved your face
The stark contrast of features
Others worship, I barely noticed

Irritations and distractions
Moved between my sight
Distrupting comprehension
But when I strip away

The pain
The history
The politics
The rejection

All there is
Is you
Which
Is perfect
And complete
Without me

It's not that I love you.
It's not that I miss you.
It's that I want to tell you
That my heart breaks with the beauty of splayed twigs reaching up towards the redning sky.
It's that I want to tell you
That the last drops of summer are drawing near, spinning golden afternoons weighted with nostalgia.
It's that I want to tell you
How I see the world; my reality exploding with possibilities for us
It's that every time I hold myself back
Rather than throw my sole at your feet with words.

Summer Holiday

We are so homogeneous

What happened here

In a room of twenty

I can see six copies

Of the same Murakami

Two more of earlier work

The empties are of

Hendrix and tanquary

Knockoff versions from your still

We will sit and watch the latest Sundance

Until we can bear to drink again

More gregarious as the day moves on

Discussing the world

Discussing ourselves

Knowledge assimilated

And integrated to the appropriate frame

I forget that my views

are not generally accepted

Wrapped in a bubble

of acceptance

Amounting to nothing more

Than different forms of oppression

A Romantic Day

It seemed magical in a way
Lights sparking from far away
Dancing trees, soothing, sway
All that was wanting was a thing 
to take her breath away
The melody of the world indicating
just a moment away
Expectant of you
The disappointment did not delay 

Hands to hair, boundaries in tatters
Your lips bring no doubts but a doubling of urgency
Losing touch of identities, we become a mass of needs
I grab handfuls of you in places which bend
Nothing is action, only desire

Jolted to by realities of form
A leg misplaced, clothing must go
We seem so strange, undignified
For a moment illuminated by innocent eye
I shrug it off and lose myself again

Some clear morning when the dew is fresh, leaving poker dot patterns around foot prints. When you run the the top of the hill in time to see the first sparks fly over the horizon and break the dusk into day. When the light hits an ocean so calm the sea bed looks a hand's breath away. On this day you may have clarity and purpose drawn from all the worlds beauty and push the despair and doubt down into the small dark places of your mind. 

Inventing identities

Here I stand
To the left my mountain
To my right the sun

Located, but not held
By confused spirituality
Attempting belonging by inviting tragedy

Drawing myself
I see only landscapes
River beds & trees

A meandering picture
of space and time
to which my heart belongs

Yesterday I had poetry
Today I have recipes
Tomorrow only pebbles remain