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.

Reasons

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.

Respect

Milady,

    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,

Morgan

Darker Days

In Justice

Whatever happened to

innocent until proven guilty?

I may be dark but I'm not dangerous

I may be a man,

but that doesn't make me a rapist.

If I smile at her

and tell she's pretty

that's a compliment, not harassment.

I'm not monster just cause I'm quiet,

just cause I'm considerate

doesn't make me a menace.

Who knew, 

shit could get so skewed,

perspectives could come so unglued

people see demons around every corner.

I've got news for you,

I'm no angel, but I'm human too,

I'd still go out of my way to help you

if you needed a Samaritan

even as hateful as you are,

and if I could give you one gift,

I'd give you the ability 

to see the monster in the mirror,

let me say it clearer,

this isn't a rumor, Miss Monger,

the monsters are people like you.

Kepler

I'm tired of being bright,

it's so hard to be a star,

when you can barely see my dying light

by the time I hit your narrow-sighted eyes

I may be gone,

I'll be gone. 

I'm so sick of shining,

sick of hoping, holding my head high,

I'm tired of trying to keep

this piece of shit planet alive.

Are you ready for my supernova?

When you burn in my fire

the universe won't weep

it won't even know we're gone.

Are you ready for my collapse,

It's not just you, I'm taking it all with me,

I'm gonna be a black hole,

I'm gonna be a force 

maybe the destruction of the universe.

I'm gonna be a black hole

The gravity you can't deny.

Make Me

Don't just make me your poet,

I don't want to settle 

for being something as mediocre

as a writer of couplets

even if they're iambic. 

Make my poem

a part of your poetry,

so thoroughly entwined 

in your experience of the poetic

that I am Pablo Neruda

when you read of love,

I am John Donne

when you read of angels, 

I am Shakespeare

when you read his immortal verse.

Don't just make me your heart,

make me romance,

the rose on your pillow,

the taste of a Malbec 

and its color staining your lips.

Make me your dances,

every partner a partner at a masquerade

wearing the illusion of my face.

Make me the percussion you move to,

the melody you sing

and when I am part of everything,

every verse of every poem,

every Valentine's, every wine,

and every single song,

you'll have made me yours.

A White Valentine

The world is ready

for her Valentine tonight.

She's chosen to go with purity,

the little white dress

instead of the black.

But not for a second

should we forget this snowy wrap

is just a facet of her beauty.

Magma still runs hot in her veins,

tectonic plates shift beneath the surface

she still fosters life 

and cradles us in her arms

from the beginning to the end.

No matter how her cloth

brings to mind the image of a bride

A dress is still just something worn,

adornment for the woman within.

She is still Goddess of the Earth,

naked under the twirling hem

as she dances with the sun and moon

across the starry sky.

She is still

thousands upon thousands

of first kisses, first loves, 

broken hearts, decades of marriage,

still the first love, her first time, the first night.

She is mother and lover, daughter,

wife and the lonely romantic,

still waiting for her knight.

The world has pulled a sparkling shawl of snow

over her shoulders,

dressed to the nine's in white

she is ready for tonight.

The Knowings I've Known

I wish I still knew 

all the knowings I've known.

Today I know new knowings,

knowings I never knew I did not know.

Spectacular knowings. Boring knowings.

Emotional knowings. Factual knowings.

I wonder if today would have been different

if I knew those knowings yesterday.

Yet while I love knowing all these new knowings,

all this new knowing is still incomplete.

There are so many unknown 

knowings to know,

so many knowings that I've never known, 

and one set of knowings I know that have gone.

It saddens me.

You see, there are so many knowings

I know I know, that I know I knew,

knowings only an eidetic mind could still know.

So, while I'm happy to know 

all that I know

I wish I still knew 

all the knowings I've known.