Aug 26, 2009

summer heat

i wanna see naked breath take shape like rods of lightening
test those waters and know they'll be just right
savor your flavor under the setting sun
tease your tastebuds with my tongue
lay embraced like ivy creeping up castles
making my way away from your mouth
glittering with salty sweat like a diamond desert
i want to be unrecognizeable to everyone but you

gary's place

todd tells me i'm among poets
that i need not worry

but i just saw the man i think i could fall in love with
get sucker punched

so the only thing i'm really worrying about, now

is that during our first kiss
he apologized for his actions
and i smelled
of cigarettes and beer


with him...i talked of sickles

with you...i want the pitchfork

airate that clay colored soil under those green trees that remind me of your underbrush eyes

eyes that i desperately need on me

kiss me under those stars...stars like the million promises we were both promised

i'll keep them for the sky, as i reminder of what i can hold onto for you

of you

you are a man.

and i am a sorry excuse for a keeper of your stars...
let me keep them anyway

stride with me
will grow

and we shall toast triumphantly, the fruit of our labor

and i'll just will taste sweeter
under promised stars

Aug 23, 2009


today the sun did not shine.

but as the moon passed over this valley.
a slow tide pulled at my skin.
and washed the heartache of yesterday.

there will be days when i will not smile.

but, today, as the sun did not shine...i am left with moths in my stomach, clinging to light we haven't felt in a while.

saturated heat.
easy street.
your hand engulfing mine.
positive reinforcement.

forget what you own.

is what makes you human.

for c

sweat, pouring.

we aren't moving a muscle.
and yet, it pours.

i want to run a sickle down the back of your arms and capture that moisture in a cup for me to drink.

i want to know your oil, your salt.

it wasn't just the heat that made me sweat.
drip. drip. drip.

i think of sickles and slick skin and laugh to myself.
about old stones.

while we drink, we speak of friction.


sir, speak softly under lips of godflesh, for the holy roman empire knows not of beauty like yours, that i know i am the only one blessed enough to see.
go with them.
go with those angels who fly sideways so that the view of the sun won't ever be obscured.
fly with them.
branch wings from those tingling muscles.
sprout feathers as though your heart were growing outward.
go with them.
fly with them.
be sure, to say your prayers at night, even if silently, because you and i both know that no one is listening.
be them, just the same.
not too much.
i only ask that he call me, "love peach".

or something of the sort.
so that i feel as wanted as i need.

and he should look at me from across the river.
with eyes, that could only be for me.

big intentions.
not an ounce of fear.

nothing will cloud those perfect days.
when the trees are green, the sky is only blue.
and you won't have felt it necessary, the need to be away from me.

we'll both enter from the same road.
both plant our feet on the same earth.
breathe the same air.

only this time around, we'll surprise ourselves.