It is

Love is in the eyes isn't it?
sure, it is right there
where all those flecks of brown
meet.
where the Iris meets the soul.

Love is in the touching of the limbs
the connection of mental intimacy
but too, it is in words
in actions, inaction
in deeds, Indeed.

Love is in the immediate falling,
the uncanny incomprehension
of reality
the not-caring, the willingness
to be completely vulnerable.  

Love is in an intangible place,
it is in the heart, the mind
the soul, it is in the small of the back
it is in your blushed cheeks when you smile

Prelude to Love's Confirmation

And oh how I want to remember you
in that one perfect moment
when your eyes became glassy
and your top lip
wrestled with your bottom lip

I want to capture the moment
I struck a chord
somewhere in your heart & mind
& you gave in to me

I want to revive the instant
when the levee broke
and the combination of
Nina Simone,
good Cognac
and great conversation
were enough to make you say it

I want to live in the blink of an eye
where your words
wanted to put me in my place
but instead your spirit
put you in yours.

I want to rest
right there;
right before you said it
in that heartbeat of a time
when I was shocked but aware
that you would love me
for the rest of my life

when the song begins,
its so pronounced and clear
the timing-the silence in between the notes
if only I could learn to be so succinct
but it will not be...
I lack the training,
the discipline,
the talent.
But oh, to love the rise and fall
of these moments.
To study them as details
like brush strokes:
such a perfect canvas.
Did you hear that?
the stymied staccato
like me it is shortened and detached...
This is what it means to be ugly
and surrounded by beauty
that is the joy of this evening.
To have goose bumps rise
to have tears gather
It is winter in every song
I grow colder with every chord.
And yet we are drawn into the sounds
moths to flames,
turtles into the sea
hearts into darkness
and yet it is so perfect
so obvious in grandeur.
So enticing in leverage
that we become hypnotized
by the sirens intent.
each note is like the fallen snow
delicate, virgin, singular
until we look up
and realize we cannot discern
the flake from the storm .

uniquely nostalgic

I don't need
the memory
leave those moments
at my door.
whats the use
of yesterday
when I've already
counted the score?
So don't give me hope
when I know
Today's dreams
are tomorrow's
sorrows.
so today's task
is to forget the past
& all the things
that we regret.
to forgive the sins
that drew us in
& all the cold secrets
we've kept.

bent arms

the clock giggles at me
reminds me with every tick,
that time is passing.
And where are you,
As I argue with the inevitable
as my dog tries to figure where that smell is coming from
I too sniff the air..
The clock giggles louder
and I am jealous to not have a laugh of my own.
futile, it is all so frivolous;
saving flowers, to plant in the desert
I hope they'll grow
before my time runs out.
There is an orange apron
lying on my bedroom floor
and I cant seem to recall what project it was for
tick, tick, tick...
time keeps laughing at me-
he thinks my tasks are hilarious.
But I'll show him,
I can build a bridge
to carry me to you.
and then time will do the unthinkable
it will bow to us
it will allow us this moment forever,
time will stand still.

I was so torn,
my bones had been broken

and it may have been the way
the afternoon snow,
reflected light rays across your brow

It could have been the tightening
of your posture
as we were carried across
mountain crags perched highly,
where man was never meant to go

per chance it was the moment
my eyes slipped on the curve or your lips,
while you trimmed my beard
I felt safe, and relevant.
It was winter and I was warm

I've tried to pin point the exact moment
when I knew I loved you completely
and now, I feel foolish because I realize
I loved you from the moment you said
"you have an amazing smile. When we
hang out I'll make you smile the whole time"

12.02.15

I am not an extraordinary man
my hands will not inspire the future
I will not create great change.
I accept it.
I am an every-man
I cannot lift the largest weights,
I struggle with the crossword puzzle.
I am not satisfied until it hurts.

I am a man who bathes in desperate love.

I get impatient at traffic lights,
grocery store lines, customer service desks.
I have trouble concentrating
and I can feel my stamina melting
like the winter ice in spring time.

But inside me,
there is this great love
waiting to be connected
to another's great love.
a love that carries poetry through the winds
to land on another's soul
a love that is prideful
and boasts of what it has discovered

I am not an extraordinary man
but I keep going on
willing to accept the hand I am dealt
all the while wishing, for a moment
where just I alone may be enough.