Wednesday, December 30, 2015

All The Numbers Between One And Two

I do not love you like the annual,
or the summer rose with its cast away petals
wilting under the dry sun or curling their edges
away from the chill breath of fall.
I do not love you like the snowflake
with its ephemeral individuality.
I do not love you like the rain,
not the single drop fallen in the ocean
or the slow motion treasure
captured on film as it drips from a goblet of jungle leaves.
I do not love you like time
rushing to getting away from us,
racing us to brittle bones and arthritis
forgotten memories and stories told over and over
to whatever children will listen.
They will all be children to us then.
I love you inexplicably
like this English language
that began as French and Anglo Saxon became lovers
as they conquered one another and merged.
I love you like this evolution
this assimilation of every culture into one beautiful, blossoming
compilation of sounds and meaning for every possible thought.
I love you in this way, 
which won’t lessen or not know how it feels about you
when the future speaks an English
you and I won’t understand.
I love you like these poems transformed into pure light 
and cast from our screens into the universe, 
rippling in luminescent waves beyond our spectrum
for an immeasurable eternity.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015


In the beginning
there were words.
Handshakes were words;
smiles, words; chemistry, words.
When I asked the world for love
you gave me what I loved:
words. Words like paintings,
words that defied black and white,
words like a palette for creating life.
Next, in medias res,
there was time spent, freely,
as though we are rich with time,
as though time well spent
was a spice to use liberally to add zest
to the days we seize together.
When I asked the world for love
you gave me what I loved:
time. Time on a clock
without a face or hands,
time given free reign,
given its reins, unbridled,
allowed to run.
Now, in this moment,
there is desire.
Like perfume, I breathe in
and my head is filled with desire,
desire defined and undefined
desire for the hourglass to be set on its side
or to ride in its sands
with you right beside me.
When I asked the world for love
you gave me what I loved:
desire. Desire to taste
your lips tasting the wine from mine,
desire to have you, to hold you
desire to want you, desire
to revel in you,
and finally, the desire

to revel in your desires.

Monday, November 23, 2015



    I am not a hunter. I will not chase you. I will not trap you, nor try to break you.
    I am a lover. My door is always open, my way is invitation. Imagine it a letter, handwritten, cursive. Signed, Sincerely Yours.
    If you find me less than irresistible, I can wait for the one who doesn’t. I will not coax, nor coerce. I might court you, if you let me, but that’s not a patience we seem to have these days.
    If you say no, or nothing at all, you will find I will not try your patience. I would rather walk alone into 18,000 sunsets, celibate, than pressure a woman until she gives in, until Stockholm Syndrome wins.
    When you are ready to give, I will give in kind. With your “Fuck Yes” paired to mine, my poetry, songs, strong hands, wild imagination, my clever mind are yours. I will wrap myself so deeply where I am welcome that you will be forever changed. As I am by you. I will show you the results of every lesson I have learned from Love and we will learn thousands more together.
   But if none of that is there, I don’t mind if your way is not parallel to mine. There are many roads less traveled by and I have known too many travelers worth the wait to trespass where I am not wanted.
   I am not a hunter. I want a partner, not prey. I am a lover. If I am not your pleasure, so be it. There will be someone else to please, and the invitation is open if you change your mind. But I will not seek to go where there is no, “Yes!”
I call this, “Respect.”
Sincerely Yours,