The notion of romance,
at once a tender dream
though now fleeting with time,
has found absence with age.

I am prone now to sing to listening winds
that have no desire for such things
that wound and scar heart and flesh
with their leavings...taking pieces
of precious and bleeding hope.

I wander in my own footprints.
I lay my head upon my own pillow,
knowing it is free of tears and I seek only
sleep now, on long and quiet nights.

But oh, you mysterious lover,
with gentlest of heart,
you tempt even the heavens...

skin does glow ever so burning.

In paleness of moon, I am drawn,
as light seeks to enter (as tendrils)
the overlapping shadows of desire.

I write upon the back of my mind
what it might feel
to drape my arms around the soft of you.

Wrap me within your torment,
torture me with the ecstasy
of your feminine design...

take this traveler of spirit and flesh
to the heart of heaven,
and give to the universe an eternal moment...

but let me sleep on long and quiet nights.

traveling time...
do endless possibilities
equate to endless probabilities.

was I there that day you crossed the desert.

As a young man,
I have passed through war.
The 'one' they never speak of anymore.
I had plunged through the portals of death.

As a young man,
my life was taken briefly
from the mangled metal of automobiles.
Again, I plunged through the portals of death.

Then I became older.
I lived with the memories of both.
I was given back,
to live again...

when one cold morning a wind came
and carried me down from two stories up,

the plunge...as I was again passing through
the portals of possible death,
left claw marks across the barren sky...
there was nothing but air to cling to.

Now, I am broken...alive but broken.

I do not know why some are taken,
and some are given back....

but death follows us mortals around every corner.

And around every corner, there is an angel just waiting to fly.

It is not that I am void of love,
I am love.

It is the blanket that I miss...
that I long for.

Arms surrounding,
while legs wrap themselves as vines grow,
clinging to the smooth bark of tree
and climbing to the sun, leaves spread wide to
gather the feeling of light, of rain, of touching.

Arms surrounding,
cupped around supple nudity of breast,
while shoulder nestles between chin and neck,
the scent of hair,
the taste of the space behind the ear,
that neglected, remains quivering
when touched by warm breath.

I miss the journey from shoulder to belly,
lingering...
as it traces with the feet of butterflies
the contours of womanhood,
stopping slightly short of it's intention.

Quickened breath replies when the distance narrows.

I miss playing each fret of the back...
note by note,
crossing into the higher octaves
as the rub of bow upon string sings
nearing the valley of that space
between the hips and thighs...

where the choir awaits.

Tease me, tempt me,
appease this disease that calls me
upon the cold chill of winter mornings,
slender in this singular bedding,
the only blanket is the one lying tangled
around the feet that remain so cold, so untouched.

It is not that I am void of love...
it is the blanket that I miss.

Lay with me,
in the leaves that shelter the ground
like winter coming.

How any octaves will it take
before sleep overcomes us.

Wake me, touch me...
tell me I am real,
and that all will be as it seems.
I do not have a mirror to return the
image of who I am, and it is dark in here.


Sunrise shows me a shadow,
it travels in half-circle, and I draw
a line through myself, down the middle.
You step in, careful not to touch the line,
and we see if there is room for both.

Standing in center, we measure a distance,
that between us feels safe, secure, and free.
I step out, and half a circle is missing,
there is no way to erase the beginning
and so I step back in, circle full on complete.

What is it between the light and shadow
that makes us what we are, reaching, eyes frightened
of what each measure of circle might mean.
Are we indifferent to the passing of time, or is time
just a measurement of itself, in agreement with living.

I do not feel a fear of you...you have awakened me
but I do not know where to go now,
so I continue to stand in the middle, shadow circling,
waiting for you to tell me I am real,
and then I may erase the line, and measure the moon.