Complex

underneath this two toned mask

I behold the scraps of disarray

and gather the tears

falling from loving places

on the face of my angel.

Peeling back old paint

and orange rinds

I watch the labor of my fingers

unearthing old truths

and honey sweetness.

And all last night I dreamed

of the spinning searching sound

we use to pry into the after hours.

The stretching and reconciliation

of our bargaining mortality

speaks out from old poetry

beneath headstones and lucky pennies.

Let's dive into the uncertainty

with stones around our necks

and sink beneath the desultory surface;

we protect our ability to remain complex.

Hours

may the hours between us

reflect an unending of possibilities

that remain like scripture

forever ahead of us.

let the pages speak

the language of two people

who truly love each other.

let me fly to you

on paper wings,

hold me darling

the road is rising.

my soul recognizes it's counterpart

from centuries away.

my love,

i stumble blissfully

adding momentum

to our private dancing.

concentrate on me

and feeling me rising

to sultry six a.m. showers

and the sounds of sirens

rattling my steam soaked windows.

be with me,

while i run my fingers

over the ink and canyons

of your sanctified sonnets.

and i’m not crazy

you know,

just whole heartedly drinking

knelt before your suppleness

unashamed and unabating

in the place

where time matters not.

Staining

I’m clinging addicted

to the threads of our laughter

sinking into the woe of reality

and staining it shameless

with love.

These words are like

abandoned children crying

breaking in through the windows

and leaking oceans across the page;

I drip candle wax and scripture

into the ointment of latter days.

Wrap me awake inside this fever

and then show me

all your canonized secrets,

this is a story of wicked roses.

You are the tipping back

of soused resolve,

you’re mona lisa smile.

With your fingers

start a colloquy on my cheek

as I beg you to look past

the bandages and cigarettes.

Haunted

I’ve been screaming out my weighted words

into this endless waving crowd

just searching and searching

for your face

and singing your songs out loud.

Sacramental rites and spirits

crawling deeper inside my veins

don’t touch me with your music

and expect me to ever be the same.

Telltale prose and positioning,

my words like a freight train

tearing through

it’s the morning of the night again

and all I need is you.

I abandon all my devils now

in the divulgence of your grace

never will I be the same

but always haunted by your face.