never knew what it meant
to live
till i met the one for whom
i would die
how funny.
Tag: poet
-
the touch of fate
is a strange thing:
she grazes your lover
with the tip of her finger
then suddenly:
she is sand
through your arms,
dust in the wind.
yet your lover’s ivy
does not leave too–
no, it sprawls
through the chambers
of your heart and mind
the ones you thought
were well and truly locked.
love, love, love:
its illusion is this:
seeing eternity,
where your love
is a heart drawn,
initials enclosed,
by the sea shore
with your fingertip
in the sand.
One wave:
all it takes.
but i will fall
for this ruse
every time.
i will fall
eagerly.
yea.
i will fall.
-
i’ve longed for so long,
i yearn to not yearn.
what is love:
does it need
to be earned?
again i ask:
when will it be
my turn?
…
Those old thoughts
came knocking on my door tonight.
Unwelcome houseguests.
They checked every window,
They checked my back door.
I don’t know if I locked up well enough.
I don’t think they entered,
but I heard them.
They shouted, I heard them.
From outside, banging on the door
I put all my weight against the door
praying they wouldn’t enter.
They didn’t, they didn’t,
but by God,
I almost let them in.
By God,
they almost
got in my head.
A trembling hand,
reached—
I don’t think faith
is a good feeling.
No, sometimes it’s your only option,
there’s a certain desperation in faith
a certain desperation-like taste.
sometimes faith
has nothing to do with the future.
Sometimes, faith has
everything
to do with the past.
I’ve been here before.
I made it out before.
They can stay at the door.
My time will come,
of that, I’m sure.
no, faith,
like love,
it is a choice.
sometimes
a hard one.
-
What is it?
It’s the same old story:
longing, and yearning.
I want someone’s breath tracing my collarbone,
I want to be the reason someone feels safe.
Something human.
That’s all.
-
these love poems
make me a fool—
supposedly.
you, the scientist
you don a white coat
but that laboratory:
isn’t it cold?
you,
your controls—
me,
no choice
but to let go.
who is the fool?
this love of ours—
its flame
burns textbooks.
i’ll set fire to every library.
for without this love:
there’s no knowing.
yeah, without this love
i know nothing.
no love, no truth—
know love, know truth.
-
You caught me staring
lost in your eyes—
you asked me what I was doing.
“Stargazing”—
it was all I could muster.
It’s like you plucked the stars from the heavens,
and put them in your eyes:
what is this magic you do?
You are the night sky.
It’s like you stole the Sun,
and put it in your heart:
what is this magic of yours?
Blazing. You bring me to life.
It’s like you’re the universe,
You draw me into orbit—
What a wonderful dance this is.
You tell me,
“I want to see the world”—
but I already do.
We could travel the globe,
There’s nothing worth seeing
if it’s not with you.
Stargazing,
one of our favorite pastimes.
But honey, that night sky
has nothing
on your eyes.
Brilliant. You bring me alive.
-
this flower bloomed
in the shittiest of pastures
but this flower bloomed
yeah, this flower bloomed.
this flower bloomed
by the family tree
obscuring the Sun
leaving near none
for that flower,
that flower, me—
but this flower bloomed.
yeah, this flower bloomed.
this flower bloomed,
home to a caterpillar,
its hammock cocoon—
and this flower bloomed,
yeah,
that butterfly flew.
-
so so close
but worlds away
like Adam’s outstretched finger,
i know not the warmth of your touch.
that tragic scene
longing for fusion:
to be created
is to be separate.
who am i to blame?
how can i be both
wounded youth
and wise adult?
it makes you uncomfortable
is it your fault, is it not
i do not know.
I’m reminded of that old fear:
who would i be
if i were born
in Nazi Germany?
i lower my pointed finger.
raised in the new world,
you in the old.
shock.
denial.
anger.
acceptance.
i found that forgiving you…
it was like accepting a loss,
the grief final.
these roots go so deep
but that bramble cuffs you
to that rock-like dirt.
I’m done breaking my back
to pull you free.
I now walk away
and leave you be.
I love you —
But ma,
I need to be me
-
Once I met you,
I never stopped falling.
Getting to love you?
My one highest calling.
This heart was made to love,
these eyes
for adoration.
Loving you
is discovering purpose:
in all truth,
liberation.
The lovemaking is so good,
it is dangerous.
I’d sell my soul
for your touch—
by your divinity, I’ve been tainted.
I’m down on my knees,
and you spread Heaven’s gates—
I’d brave all of Hell
just to taste it.
My soul…
it is yours.
Have it…
take it.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 