time to time
I slip away and open the tiny shell
rocketed in my palm
the interior is lined with complex etchings
intersecting like the strontianite galaxies
sectors blur so that the lines stain fuzzy
to the Correction of nothing,
black, yes, completely
I press my lips and kiss the tiny empty anything
black, yes, completely
I press my lips and kiss the tiny anything

I awoke with a mean love on my cheek
the muslin, lace, the silk patterns
made shades that reached outside to the center of all streets
I drew them toward my chest, rolled up around me,
only in the glee darkness we could see

went by the city alone wishing I had a love
to follow the end of my finger

but the streets were flooded with you already
and I breathed

which beautiful wheel of Saturday sings morning
as your lovely dew face ? chariots through
textures of green, the breeze blows hard on the heart shaped
reeds (pressing tightly together we)
pillow notes
(tighter)
(tightly)
blow

This is my LAST Sunday
this is my last day of THIS
This is the moment when that over there,
that then
that when sometime soon
ends AT the time IS becoming

There it is, just one touch feels golden rivers
fills me with a sense of the bewildered spirit
rippling through waters of longing, lust, love

it is the daily zest of those fated with the
lucid dream of passions, who live in the filth
and grime of the day with a paradoxal joy:
feed and thrive on both and yearn to translate

it into a song
a dirty little melody
so sweet and sad any ear would beg
for more, dropping anchors deep into the heart

It is taste of the many hues of pain that
allows a grain of saccharine sweet kiss
feel like a junkies last dance, a soft
wet tongue running along the inside of
a plump lip raw

Is it is the detachment, the length of time that zings through my greens and blues with orange pops and pink sparks
the whites of the eyes, the holding of breath
wanting nothing more that to seize or be seized
the endless conquest,top of the hill, waving of flag
s’il vous plaît
s’il vous plaît
s’il vous plaît

La chanson de ressort éclate à mon coeur aujourd'hui, mes yeux miroitent avec elle. Il se sent bien de découvrir la petite joie encore.

The song of spring bursts in my heart today, my eyes gleam with it. It feels good to still discover the small joy.

The Other Spring

This isn't my spring.


In the back of the closet I think I can talk where no one can hear me, it is where I whisper into the sequined dresses and cotton shirts. Where I can turn these reds and blues into hush.

Even in sleep there is no hidden self and what pockets of sky are shared with the echos.

Still
the sun sets right at the edge of my eye
the ocean, the horizon
the ledge

The Island

I think the thing is, after I pulled back the cover to my heart, I found the sadness. The was something living under my bed but it wasn't going to bite, not that hard. A scared spider baring fangs in defense, I cradling it, kissing it, parting my lips, giving it breath. And so, that is where the river flooded in between you and I. I became an island and you, you just floated.

You were pulling on my hot knees
whispering a family secret in my ear
I lined my eyes like the horizon
hurricaned, smelled your amber sailor breath

I love the curve of your
and the scent of the
the bold exterior of your
and the way you