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The music here has created a movement,

and beauty is bleeding from within.

Everything is esoteric,

seeds budding and stemming from a glance, from the simplicity of a soft, gentle touch,

from my heart and to and through you.

All of this, of course,

has always been,

and always will be.

Harmony has passion,

and

fear flies with just as much grace as that of

a diving dove.

 

Now and again, illusions form–

blankets of snow are tricks from the midnight moonlight,

whispers beyond the hallway are shakes from a cold chill,

and painful thoughts are only fragments from feelings of the past.

We have buried ourselves,

all of us.

In so many shapes,

in so many ways,

in so many places.

Falling

apart.

 

But now, the air is aberrant

and these vessels;

these veins and vines,

these eyes and ears,

see and feel and hear

the heart of the matter–

the only matter that has ever mattered.

 

And so we travel on,

picking up the pieces,

trying to live our lives like circles.

Perfect in our own rotations.

All to touch again,

perhaps.

 

But,

tender to shine together

we all are,

as long as we breathe

life

beyond

our skin.

As long as we share

out

from

within.

Sharing Eyes

Daisies are dying in the salty sun,

photograph smiles, postcard kisses, and kind eyes cover the canvas of our story.

These are the things we have

as we hold each other in

endless arrangements of our hearts,

bouquets of love,

all wrapped in playful colors and

gentle, harmonious music.

And everything is shared with a sweetness,

like softly knitted details

that stitch the story of our love.

And we share,

and share,

and share.

 

There is so much I want to give to you–

everything is

endless,

 

just

like

our love.

 

 

Hunkered down in the hotels of headaches and heartbreak,

rooms are for rent with discounted rates,

and all you need show is your eyes.

The ever revealing signs of sadness.

Desperation festers with fear to all those afraid of silence,

heavy to have someone to hold,

needing that intangible to create confusion.

These hallways have been familiar havens, faces covered in cloaks and windows choking out everything,

leaving only this

darkness

with dim-lit candles.

 

And like a feather falling slowly,

draping the grass and rising again with the wind,

playing perfectly the art of patience,

you have come here

and checked in.

 

And everyone looks at you auspiciously,

like you’ve done something wrong–

but the looks really stem from the fact that you

haven’t.

What are you doing here?

Is the question they’re asking,

and the only one they don’t want answered.

For if answers found their way

here

and to them,

the abundance of unnecessary needs would cease to exist

and meaninglessness would magnify like moonlight on a midnight lake.

 

All these rooms, these battered and bruised souls,

have to wait until they’re ready.

They could wait a lifetime–

some do.

 

I’ve waited,

and it was worth

anything and everything

to have

you

now,

and know I’m ready to love you.

I’m driving deep into the sunset,

and the horizon is hanging upon the head of the highway–

everything is hazy in these moments,

glowing and flaming like transparent wildfires calling me clearly in silent tongues.

The tires hug the road and my wrist loses itself to thoughts.

I’m quickly reminded of lines,

of guidelines that one must abide,

of limitations,

of left and right,

of past and love and family.

 

I steady my hand upon the wheel and drive into this

invisible fire. Aching and alone.

 

I’m getting closer to you now–

leaving all this on the road

and driving straight into your heart,

and you,

into mine.

 

And the closer I get,

the brighter we burn

Until this fire is blazing blue.

 

And I’m thinking of a song now, and the words warm my heart.

I know this love is real

because this fire is burning blue, as

the highway disappears with the daylight–

any brighter flame would be a lie.

And darling,

I love you.

Circles

Brushes dipped in darkness are painting these streets black and back

to times before.

All of this is a distant memory lost to a dream.

Heavy heads resting upon brass rimmed beds,

lonely eyes, silent and shaking, crying out.

All we are is here and now,

how simple a thought to ponder?

Water lives like memories,

to evaporate and be again,

as time elopes beyond our fingertips

and what remains undone has been before.

The circular game of time is laughing perhaps–

all of us looking onward

as it comes up from behind us,

and swiftly,

upon us once more.

 

And this sad, pathetic brush is foiled in our forcing fate

to be what we think it should be.

We think darkness must be black

and that love has no place here.

Time is laughing still.

 

But,

as I softly lean into to touch my love,

and feel her breath

as I kiss the cheek of which I feel fulfilled,

I disagree

with things

as they are,

wholeheartedly.

 

The heart has always mattered more,

and darkness is only a passing color in a

circle that we can create for ourselves.

I’m visualizing time through this pavement.
These passing reflections and dotted lines,
these sunglasses and momentary smiles.
All of our hands locked away from the oncoming cool night air.

And I walk behind them,
as they talk like lovers and quarrel like the squirrels of these trees simultaneously.
And it’s dusk now, and we watch the setting sun through the forest of this neighborhood.
They live here. But I’m only visiting.
I guess we’re all just visiting.

But they don’t seem to recognize it all like I think they should.
And I don’t know why I expect them to–
it’s certainly unfair.

Colors schemes cover the sky; explosions of beauty,
and there are always things like this that we shouldn’t name.

And it’s then I think of you,
and I know that your beauty resides somewhere else
above and beyond the unnamed.
Your spirit whispers in the wind through these leaves.
And I smile as I hear you pass by,
softly reminding me to listen closer.
To feel your heart beat beneath this earth.

And now here I am, in my trampling,
trying to find words
once again.

Hoping, at will,
that my falling and rambling will
makes you laugh,
so I can watch you smile
once more.

And I took my hands out of my coat,
as we passed the park. Because there’s a warmth I feel
with you beside me,
whether you’re
everywhere else
or not.

Castle by the Sea

Postcards and gas stations are scattered across

my memory. Old vending machines with bingo buttons,

muted music, and a dry mouth. Bathrooms that required a purchase

or a conversation,

or both . The highway of my memory,

forgotten roads

and forgettable destinations.

South.

Ocean view.

Scenic.

Seen it.

You’re not even looking.

And you’ve never handled silence well

so the music plays on.

 

And we don’t talk.

There are no phone call conversations boiling with truths,

no whiskey to wet you down to the soft woman I had come to admire. No late night rants

raging about anything and everything, and losing nothing along the way.

No,

now there is only music,

and too much of it.

 

The night before you leave, you ask me what’s the matter.

I say nothing,

knowing this could go on for a while.

And I know–

you think I’m sad that you’re leaving. You think I love you.

I let it be.

I don’t have the heart to take that from you, or maybe I have the heart by not doing so.

I’ve never been quiet sure.

But soon I cover up, and we talk about seeing one another again. Another trip somewhere.

Places are named, plans are formed.

Perhaps

East

this time,

or South.

etc.

 

I don’t sleep much that last night,

as you lie beside me like a log.

I’m thinking about those hotel towels you stole,

and how that place looked just like some castle by the sea.

And I still have those towels,

And we never did go East,

we just stopped.

 

After you left the next morning

I came to realize

that all my life

I’ve been fighting between the reality of how I feel and

the responsibility of how I should behave.

 

And letting it be

isn’t easy.

Whether love is there or not.

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