Concentrated fruity goodness

Attributed to the budding tastes of an infant deity

Nourishing addiction to the shapes of mankind’s creation

Demolished and dissolved in fervent corruption

Yes…

Sometimes in life

We find ourselves more concerned

With the hours that are passing

Instead of living the seconds in between

Sometimes I cannot stand

That you live outside the curves

Of the world built with words

Carefully crafted to capture in awe

The readers of your form.

You are free written breathlessness

Struggling to speak phrases

Alien to my lips

Plucked from histories spent

In fragile recollection.

Italicized glory drips from your tongue

As temptations grounded in tradition

Sliding between the teeth

That spell my name in black.

Spoken in haste,

Rebuffed in recitation

Then carved in stone.

You are more than words;

Be free of expectation.

For, in reality, you are simply more.

Silver Afternoons

Descending like a gentle fog

Upon the skin

Condescending and condensation

Refined.

Effluent rays diffused

And scattered shade shine

Shimmering with subdued radiance

Rendered and renewed,

Divine.

Oh say what they like

And take it for naught

Grains of sand slipping

Like words unfamiliar, yet kind

From the mouths of pageantry.

A charade of characterizations

Paraded like effigies

Through a sea of ideas

Then burned

At the stakes of our claims.

A childish grin escapes my lips

With muffled laughter obscured

By the back of my fingers,

Interlaced in composed existence.

I eye your message tenderly

With piercing analytical persuasion

And meted and measured

Words.

A small breath slips by the escort

Through Bastille and fort alike

Prancing softly

With charismatic glee.

I linger as you notice

Defiant openly

The jig is up, I’ve had enough

This cat’s too much for me. 

I’ve found it,

The perfect gift for you.

It shimmers like the autumn evening

And falls like majestic rain.

It rings in my ears

Like the road beneath the wind

And the shadows of eventide.

It sings

Like a caged bird

Longing for something more

Than echos of familiarity.

It tastes like home

The way you feel before a bonfire

Wrapped in my arms.

It smells like afternoon

Before the traffic starts

And food shops hustle before the rush.

It looks like everything you’ve given me

And all the unspoken words I’ve kept inside. 

It both describes you 

And fits my tongue 

Like everything you should have heard before.

I was mute

And this is my abstinence from silence.

I glance over at your laughter

Trickling its way to my lonesome ears

Finding sunlight in your shoulders

As I stare across the void.

You look at me

Through the corner of your eye

Playfully, yet with a touch of sorrow

Burdensome melancholy.

We freeze for a moment

Unable to admit

The depth of our resistance

To categorizations untoward.

Stereotypical classifications of guilt

Mingled with unethical boundaries

Tangled within the crawlspaces

Within our hearts.

Is it love or indigestion

Or the inability to overcome and cope with

The frailties we share?

I just talked to you yesterday, it seems

I’m sorry it took so long.

You said you were doing things you loved

And finally had the job you wanted.

I talked to you yesterday, it seems

You were happier than I remembered.

You said you had a better life

Had conquered the sadness we once shared.

I talked to you yesterday, it seems

I read your words for the first time in years.

They seemed to glow with a light

I had never seen before. 

I talked to you yesterday, it seems

But now I’m sure that cannot be. 

I saw your name in a year old paper

Page 5: Obituaries

I talked to your family today, it seems

And I couldn’t meet their eyes.

Sorry will never be enough,

For all the yesterdays we never spoke. 

Scattered cobblestones trace the path

Of cracks that line their weary faces

Paces fading into patterns

Sorely unkempt with time.

Rhythms quiet, unassuming

Rumors lost in circumstance

Dancing ‘round with withered leaf

And falling to the wind.

Open meadow, sheltered brow

With perspiration set

Met with consternation’s scent

And cast into despair.

Sending constellations guidance

Charting for a vacant shore

Sure of ill-intent, evading

Till night will come nevermore.