I

Won’t you love me?
Like the redwoods love
Subterranean wells that cannot be seen
But felt just the same
It is water among the trees.
Where birds build their nests
An array of voices lifted to sing
I want to be left, mesmerized
Feeling fortunate to have witnessed your beauty

Pablo

I want to love you
Like the spring loves
Its virgin blossoms
And carry you on a burgeoning breeze
Until you take root
In earthen fortitude
And absorb the nutrients
Of all the previous buds
That opened their blooms
Like tiny cups to gather dew
Filtering sunlight, reflecting the moon.
Like a trembling widow
Wrapped in lace
I am cocooned
I seek your silk
To make a net
To catch my drift
Before I am lost at sea
And jaded as history
Which unlike love,
Is written by the victor
But is never as sweet
As the kiss from my ebon lips
That rests at your feet.
Until once again
the seasons rip
the virgin blossoms
from my tree
to sail on a wind
that will become a burgeoning breeze

Poem to a love that never existed

From harping like banshees,
To moaning gingerly as bird calls.
We sing a song of varied timbre
Wrapped in bed sheets
You give life to these old bones
So much energy undulating,
undulating.
I am elated-no ecstatic
To a height where joy is banal
And its energies tangible
glowing and velvet
sweet to the tongue
soft to the touch
and always easy on the eyes.
I am evoked by your chant.
My spirits rise like baking bread
The heat of your heavy lidded stare,
Sends me wandering just far enough to miss you.
Until I am reeled back in
And drawn to your core
Where I pierce you deep
And lick at the crease That your lips form when lying asleep

no touching

no touching

You were naked and I, amazed
Raw and ready
Every line and crease
unto my touch
But ghosts
be your ruining
So I gave you a little head
But refused to let you touch me
So I fucked with your head
No one can touch me
So I planted the seed of doubt

Won’t someone touch me?

You question my mystery
Challenge my melancholy
But I won’t let you see me
I’m an organdy sheet
merely composed of the breeze

I once let someone touch me

You are me just six years ago;
More of who I am than I am of me
So I understood why
Your progression would be to leave.
But I felt alright about it
My duty was to save you from me
I walked you to my door but feared closing it
This poet didn’t like the symbolism
I stood in its threshold asking for one more kiss
You stood in my threshold but were able to resist.

I reached for your hand but you passed right through
as I was never tangible;
a figment
just a lazy shadow
caught only in the corner of the eye

So how can anyone touch me