From A Fall Walk Home

fine wine

see me

strip me with your eyes

my witness to my life

break me

recreate me in your image

phyletic mental fission

taste me

twisted essence on your tongue

claw-foot decanter drunk

i want you to want me like a fine wine

a taste you cant get out of your mind

i wish you’d drink me down

and tell me that you’re mine

ruby splatter on a white shirt

the way your fingers make a clean cut

chanel on the collar that brushes my hip

a pornographic shine to your lips

press them to me

let me devour you

twin souls entangle to one

let me bury myself under your skin

stretch to make room for the fit

a flush to your cheeks

wandering eyes across the room meet

take a slow sip, go on, let me see

the things you’d do to me

if i were a fine wine

spilled carelessly on the bed

red bleeding like ink hair from my head

wrist pinned to the sheets

would i gasp,

would you plead,

we’d make a pretty picture, indeed

sealladh

their majesty was impossible to comprehend. 

it was not a view that could be captured and bottled in a picture, reflected as it was in the eye of a camera. it was more - 

vast and swelling even without an orchestral score. it was the impossibility, perhaps: 

the stretch of the water, endless in its breadth, the patter of rain against lush grass, the vibrance of flowers unfurled against an overcast sky. 

it was fog on the opposite coast, a river cutting through the hills.

 it was all at once a tender kiss and a giddy laugh, ancient and ephemeral and undisturbed. 

of course it inspired words - endless poetry, song, folklore, myth. for what was left when even pictures could not suffice? 

you needed to live it, feel it, breathe it, and even then it was not enough, an endless waterfall with only a droplet slipped between wanting lips. 

it was simply too much - for how could anyone begin to understand the edge of the world? It tasted of endings, 

it tasted of beginnings.

cowardice (1)

you wish to hide from your mind,

you wish to not be real

you hunger for experience

you crave their artifice

you yearn for something better than this

the curve of smiling lip

you let the colors consume you

if attention strays, it never dips

you want to look and not be seen

you want the mouth to open

you talk of vulnerability,

you hide behind a screen

you indulge in habits you hate,

you hate yourself by proxy

it holds no violence, but it festers

a sight you cant unsee

you wonder how you got here

you wonder how to flee

it draws you back, time again,

its a funny thing like that

habits form, but once they’re there

they’re awfully hard to crack

sleepless

it whispers to me, 

it wants to know

it will not quiet

it can’t let go

beside my pillow,

loud beat of heart

it cannot stop,

it cannot start

curiousity disquiets the head

circulate, metabolism

energified, stomach dread

tap of toe, pick of finger

sensual slide of bared leg

i cannot settle, unscratched itch,

i will not ever be at rest

breezeblock

it is beautiful, quietly beautiful

it needs no announcement nor gaudy proclamation of arrival

gentle patter of snowfall,

whispered brush of leaf

it is there through blustering sunshine

it is there in deadened sleep

the silence is a thing in itself, the

backdrop of every play

you are never not without it

it's patient, it lies in wait

and when you are ready for it, though you may never be

going out a thing of rage,

riotous against the peace

they'll tie you to the bed

and you'll spit out useless fury

it will greet you, with open arms and heart

it begs you to forgive

but you're animal, not god

and love spawns hatred in your heart

when you're tired and heaving

back bent and wrists red,

the silence will creep

aimless night will descend

and if you've never lived without sound

the quiet is unfamiliar, in the end

it's just you and the trees, and they're scary, yes

but they are soft,

but they are friend

on scent

scent indicates familiarity; it’s always there but doesn’t really mean anything until it means something, 

and now its not just brownies cooking, but ours over stifled giggles at two am

and now its not just a car exhaust, but yours singing songs into a sunset 

and then, years later, you catch a whiff

and your head turns, inevitably, because it would be worse than shame, to miss something you love

and maybe a part of you wants you to be happy

and when you lose that forever maybe you’ll seek it in a bottle, or save it in fabric, or even try to rediscover it in the recesses of your mind, 

but scent is uniquely reserved for the here and now,

and i will never live this moment again, but 

maybe i will catch a whiff of it on the breeze 

and my head will turn ever so slightly, 

and i will remember oh, how i loved you so.

the world

entropy must increase,

disorder in your brain

impossible to untangle in music

can’t sense-make nonsense and expect to gain

there’s got to be another way,

there’s a pounding in your head

there’s a solution, thermodynamically

excise the pain, release the dread

but when you stop running

all you hear is your breath

the sear in your lungs

pounding in your chest

stripped away, immortalized

beastly, energized

your face hot against warm water

the body is all that remains, unclothed

a shock to the eye,

stripped of ego, stripped of pride

curve of waist meets slant of thigh

without facade, it’s who you are

truths tantalizing and terrified

feared to face, close your eyes

but its you, you cannot hide,

so open.

see on wide;

the messy marks of an existence cried

unfortunately, agonizingly alive

smeared grease stains on phone screen

and passed a joke from video to friend

statistically significant,

node on the web of connection

sticky fingers push cheek,

mold skin to who you are

physical barriers between us,

but our minds touch, less individual

more undefined,

more unknown

split between the bodies of friends

and everyone i ever met

self-description entailed self-destruction

and a greater whole emerged from the mess

ridiculously vulnerable

a populace in fetal form

the world, it was me and you

the individual a self-serving lie

all born with fragile skin that breaks

all born from the same blue sky

all born vulnerable

to the world, expecting attack from all sides

i ran, and it worked, because entropy increased

but my energy went to another cause

a difficult pill to swallow,

that things don’t disappear when they're gone

the world is a closed system,

and we are who you are

and i fear you

and i love you

and you are me, and i am you

and when i see something i recognize

in the reflection in your eye,

and when i run and try to hide,

we are the world, it’s all around

it’s within me.

burning

to care for something is a delicate thing

to cultivate, to put a part of you into a vessel outside yourself with no guarantee of success

like chipping a piece of your heart that you might not get back

it's a gamble

but you take that risk because you always hope that what you feel, so may someone else for you

a singular attention

but people bite

and you don’t know if you’ll ever get it back

and what if you gave more than you realized

and when they’re gone, you look down and all that’s left is blackness

blindfolded in a ribcage, entombed by a heart that doesn't beat for you

by lungs that don’t breathe for you

by lips that don’t lust for you

and you are shunned and quiet and can only say, oh, okay

and give no sign of your smile chipping away, that skipped beat and the cold creep of dread

and give no sign of the disappointment, lest you look closer and know its because you had the audacity to have expectations

and give no sign of the hurt, lest you find yourself realizing it meant something

to be vulnerable is to be peeled open, raw and turbulent, strapped to a table with a knife hovering over you and a trembling hand against it

it's the pulse in your neck as something unknown grazes your skin

the flex of tendons desperate to recognize what’s beneath them,

the lump in your throat that never seems to go away 

it’s the hope that the contact was lips and not teeth

and some say the risk is worth it for the chance of love

but this year it is a brittle winter

and the truth is so warm within me, 

to the point where i may set ablaze 

and nobody will know why my body was charred from the inside out

on spring

pastel sunrise, mottled green

flower bloom, thawed stream

spring is upon us, the air is clean

crisp cloud cuts the sky

and there’s a gleam in your eye

an adventure there, and i want to follow

outstretched hand, t-shirts at dusk

grassy knoll, abandoned park

mosquitos buzz and bat them away

air cool and perfumed with the breeze of the day

and there’s a bed waiting when you get home

and the silence is warm when you’re alone

sky open above you and dizzy with fear

the grip of nostalgia never felt so real

until now, grass flat beneath your back

and sand between toes, pretty rock in backpack

teetering on the precipice of all you have known

at once still so young, at once so near grown

living felt stagnant but the answer was clear

every me nested in me, stacked years upon years

the coming of spring still awakens such thrill

and the promise of budding spreads dreams anew:

this was never a middle, as the pond is never still

but the beginning of everything, and everything that will

summer

summer strings you out and stretches you

leaves you to dry like meat on a wire

frayed thin, tendons close to snapping

nothing but hot skin and buzzing flies

rough sheets and restless nights

summer is seamless and raw

leaves you prickly and itching all over

flushed cheeks and peeling skin,

tantalizing and torrefied

like something shaped for burning,

like something waiting to be set alight