waxing and waning

her night is 

hot swollen magenta

interwoven

my night is

blue distancing black

outwards

we sew threads of 

distance together

and pull tightly

but the back and forth,

the forth and back

the waxing 

and waning...

(Image from yourtango.com)

defying gravity

... and also,

if you have the fortitude

to witness it,

this day will slowly end

clean off one more

facet of your diamond,

you are that much more

beautiful right now

let these unwelcome worries

fold up their chairs and

scurry onward,

you've played host to them

for long enough

look,

as if they're defying your 

gravity and traveling away

with the sinking sun

the night brings fresh hours

of renewal, so unpainted

and tomorrow is

another chance to hold onto

something worthwhile

(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

damaged =

damaged =

              the opportunity

              to heal

eyes can't figure out

the optical illusion

words spill forth

only to be

sucked back in

touch what's real,

what's believable

but who's to say,

O but who's to say

(The Reapers by Manuel Piedra)

sleepless nights and starless skies

into these sleepless nights

and starless skies

wide-eyed and awestruck

the preliminary mindset

venturing through the clearing

unobtrusive, pensive

with dazzling dilemmas

over these sleepless nights

and starless skies

climbing the invisible rungs

swinging on ethereal vines

free-falling free-floating

languid in between

without tethers or belongings

under these sleepless nights

and starless skies

pulling the vacancies back

into tightness, closeness

my undisclosed lover

our fragile rendezvous within

temporary accommodations

(Candle No 2 by Anna Kadurina on huong1952.tumblr.com)

with without

one with the

with

and one with

without

howevers shiver into

a colder that hasn't 

gone into yet

why say the

why

when the when

is whenever

how's now for 

how

before what begins

whatever

(Image from videohive.com)

as it beats

I am fond of all things 

that bend and break

things that move

things that contort

things that are vulnerable

this, (of) my heart

where I wait for you

in a state of change

with irregular pulsations

in highs and lows and

everything in between

in this gelatinous house

a resident of (e)motion

a tenant of flex and flux

is held the only constant

as it beats with a furious

repetition of sounds

for-you, for-you

for-you, for-you

for-you, for-you

(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

her beautiful ways

when she sits next to me

she absorbs me.

my thoughts, my intentions

flow toward her.

its neither a taking nor

a possession,

its a willingness to open up

and share with her,

to let everything out and

offer it to her

... beauty is the way she

accepts it

when I listen to her or read her

she has my attention.

her honesty is direct, straight

from her true heart.

she may waver or migrate from

this place to that,

but I wait and I listen and it all

comes together.

I respect her words as they

come, good or bad

... beauty is the way she

doesn't hide them

when I touch her or hold her

nothing else exists.

the directions of her body

become my pathways.

the slopes and curves, the

hards and softs of it

allure me, enthrall me, arouse

every sense of me.

I lick, I bite, I kiss, I caress,

I enter and release

... beauty is the way she

enjoys it

when she shows her love for me

I am joyously overwhelmed.

she has the ability to always be

in a giving state of mind,

to always be caring for me, to

always be concerned.

there is a surrounding warmth

that comes from her, an aura

so unique. I long to be within it.

there is love in this world, and 

then there is her love

... beauty is the way she

expresses it

when I think about her I forget

about my past. 

there is only this moment, the

immediate, the here and now.

I cherish every detail, every word, 

every expression.

I align with her affection, her

playfulness, her composure.

I see ahead of us. I envision the

life we may become

... beauty is the way she will be

a part of it

(Image from frauantjes.tumblr.com)

to the rain

I'm awake

just listening to the rain

just listening to the rain

just listening to the rain

there's not much else to do

but listen to the rain

its constant pattering thumps

its little splattering splashes

these thimble cups of pain

these spry misshaped elations

have happy-sad connotations

like snowflakes and falling ashes

I'm listening to the rain

wondering why its so wonderful

being content and yet uncomfortable

much the same, much the same

(Gif from edellean.tumblr.com)

during the ballad

darkest of nights. my jukebox plays. I am not the one with the coins. I am not the selector. thrills spills and little kills run rampant on the dance floor. strobe-light flickers shines dims. shadow man shadow woman disappearing in the glare. what aches to sing that song in the gloam. what joyous tune sounds above this dismantling. reunite slowly during the ballad. this intimate partner. how her dress sways and floats above her thighs. I taste the in-between. there's a violin and a saxophone. she says my name when she says I love you. the walls come down and the ceiling drifts away. I hold her in my hands. both palms on her jaw. my thumbs grace her lips. its magical, to be so small in front of me while opening up such an enormous presence.

(Image from artfinder.com)

firefly

cold light in the distance

finds attraction in mid flight

a short life staccato 

in the steam of green cities

one numb to the humdrum

and the flash of pure glow

one lies in waiting as

illuminated bodies glide by

femme fatale in the darkness

sends her signal forward

he responds and flies forth

with flashing adorations

ardor in the twinkling as

the crush of love approaches

but she imitated his species

and devours him instead

meanwhile entranced

optical delusion, 

entrancement

one within oneself, 

singularity into combustion

eyes staring upon a 

lazy nowhere

ladling thoughts, 

the soup du jour

calm as soft 

quaalude overdose

seeking divinity in 

my own foreign nebulae

just a man on a bench 

in a park in my head

biting my nails 

down to the quick

meanwhile entranced, 

this beetle in the grass

just another singularity 

burning along side me

subliminally

sun/rise (my photos)

one 

  tomorrow 

    remains

I'm waiting for the sunrise

  naked and anxious

    I shake

sounds of rising

  stirs in the distance

    an uncomfortable arousal

whispers of the day

  winds that tease the skin

    and blood flow

stimulation slows time

  the grinding halt of touch

    a/sexual encounter

      and here

        comes

          the sun

how to eat a mango

wait for it to ripen

slightly sweet and 

fragrant at the rind

dig in vertically 

next to the core,

then top to bottom

side to side

into the fruit's flesh

press upon the peel

as it flowers outward

polish off the center

not to waste anything

and feed off the skin

I think    delicate

I think    delicious

I think of her

(Image by Marcel Milkthistle on medium.com)

journal-9, maker

I want to be a maker of things, not a destroyer. a deliveryman. life comes in small packages, discreetly, sometimes anonymously. a knock on the door. I'm unsure. shaken but enthusiastic. unmoved. I stare at the door. the knocking fades away. I live in a valley. I sleep by the brook. the water makes me happy. trickling water is a happy phrase. I've forgotten my address. it doesn't matter. the deliveryman knows it.

on any random Tuesday the empty faces fill my view. do mirth and gaiety know the days of the week? say "Friday" to yourself and try not to smile just a little. she says "FriYay" once in a while and it lights me up. her voice is home, as distant as it may be.

the Anhinga is sometimes called a snakebird. its adept at swimming and flying. two mediums through which to roam. the male constructs a nest before he even has a mate. anticipation... what a luxury of consciousness. a bundle of thrills... just... waiting... waiting... 

when I was much younger, I used to sneak out at night. I'd open my bedroom window, take the screen out and quietly climb through. the change of environments was instantly palpable. leaving one known address for another place that didn't have one. I wanted to make something new, somewhere else. somewhere beneath midnight's umbilicus the forbidden fruit was spread out for the feast. I wanted to be the one who knew where it was. I wanted to make my home there.

(Image from fravery.tumblr.com)