Wide open spaces, a thing I’d never known before,
Held court in cafés and nightclubs.
Took lovers in backseats in darkened alleyways,
And in tiny rooms, crammed full of books and secrets, and one too many half-smoked packs of cigarettes.
Now I have half the second floor to rattle around in and my soul love to keep warm at night,
Still I crave more wide open spaces.
Endless wilderness and deserts stretching far beyond the eye can see,
And the sea rushing in to mingle with sand beneath our feet.
I’ve swallowed ashes and spit blood for this,
(I let their words define me, let
fear guide each step, let the past haunt and the future consume my every thought),
I’ve died and been reborn for this.
Wide open spaces,
To grow up and grow old with you in.
Earned this, countless bruises inside and outside to show for it.
Happiness wrapped in love, grounded in truth, stitched to the essence of your very being.
Fear is a stranger and trust sleeps at your side.
Tea cools on the balcony as soft dreams await, accept it –
Sparkling floors and no ceilings, quiet drives through the countryside on mini-vacations,
Singing and dancing after too much mezcal,
Kissing like teenagers
The smoky skies and endless nights of the city banished to a reliquary of
youthful indescretions, painful lessons, and fond memories to look back on.
Venus and Cupid – Circle of Jacopo Sansovino (Courtesy of The Getty Center)
endless adoration, say my name tongue-filled with passion
thirst for exploration, wander my mind, your untamed woodland.
in a sea of raging devotion and cry in ire as I drift away.
on display, on my terms only.
Goddess in a temple, come forth and worship me.
It’s not enough
the last bit of brandy,
the last kiss, the last touch,
the last sunset watched.
memories wrapped in silk and naïevité forever.
a field of “I’d nevers,”
Blood, sweat, the dreams you covet
Give it all, so we can burn it and start again.
my poem Fluidity was published via the Life in 10 Minutes Project last month! Visit Life in 10 Minutes for heartfelt works from a variety of artists.
lonely little lover sitting on the shelf, with plastic parts
all shiny and brand new and a tiny plastic heart
consumed with burning desire for you
“love her but it couldn’t work,” you know the old refrain and so years pass and you drift your separate ways.
maybe that’s all for the best, maybe you’re in love with being loved, just a lovely little loner spilling down the drain full of empty compliments and a desperate need to kiss away your pain,
it only hurts for a moment, an excruitaiting bliss, and then you’ve made it through,
that’s just the way
life works kid.
Beyond it, moving through the cosmos unbounded,
Test it with a few vinegar phrases, but those wounds have been healed now for ages,
what’s your motive anyhow? we’re just strangers with a familiar sense of each other’s coding,
How much progress occurs by way of quiet judgement?
Fuck it. We’re all hypocrites, but try to feel it,
Can’t relate? Well that’s alright,
just sit steady while the angel launches.
(talk to me) so cheap all it takes is some stimulating conversation.
Listen in intently and you might just lure out secrets I didn’t even know existed.
Is it love if you find yourself falling every fifteen seconds? Is is real,
does it matter if you both can feel it?
To be frank, can’t quite relate to my peers (never could),
and I don’t expect to be understood by the many anymore, just leaving this behind for the few,
the bleeding hearts of the future to try to decipher,
on a cold night, when the wind howls and they’re searching for signs that they aren’t completely alone,
that the sadness isn’t forever,
that the void won’t devour them whole.