She wants to know what my look means,
and I lovingly tell her, “nothing”.
But in fact,
I am kissing her with my eyes.

These eyes know that our lips,
so supple, and subtly quivering,
are not yet allowed to touch,
but still they tease me
with the imagery;
expound upon the fantasy
and, ultimately…
Make me look somewhat stupid.

But I still tell her it means nothing.
And she still knows I am lying.
Sometimes I wonder what her look means.
Sometimes I think she is kissing me back.

It is funny to have kissed so much
without kissing at all.
Our lips are strangers who know each other all too well.
They are estranged pen pals,
on opposing sides of a military blockade.

But when they meet
it will be like the exploration of an unknown land.
For though we have mapped the terrain,
beyond the edges, there be monsters.
Vicious beasts whom I have come to consider
that which constitutes the very excitement
which has me capitulated.
They are the tingles that run down my spine
when I give her that look
that she can’t understand.

So, softly I sang her a song.

I sang to ease what it was that troubled her.

And then it dawned on me,

that something troubled my own fallible soul.

That you could look out her window,

on a hillside overlooking the ocean,

and still not see a star.

Like sitting at a desk,

composing roll-top fantasies.

It was an ironic travesty

for the only way to write is to live.

And one cannot live

without lying on a hillside,

overlooking the ocean,

and breathing in the spectacular diamonds of the night.

Play it Loud, and Rock Out!!!

“It is not enough to play music loud, you must rock out to it.” This, a dear friend said to me on a day when any other words would have bounced around in my skull like a live round of ammunition. So I turned up my music, felt the rhythm, and let my blues go. The words are beautiful, and they matter to me, but not as much as the rhythm. The soul of Bob Dylan’s latest album has become my therapy. The trap of scales and Arpeggio’s has crafted my cage, and I would stay barred my entire life should it mean feeling the healing I am experiencing right now. Hungry, thirsty, tired, sad, suicidal, it doesn’t matter. Play it loud and rock out. Play it loud…and rock out. Truer words were never spoken, nor indeed from truer lips. I am a thousand times happier than I could ever say, at least, some place within me. and that certain place is incumbent with multiple, very welcome occupants. I say it one more time:

PLAY IT LOUD!!! AND ROCK OUT.

she made me speechless, and here’s the words I forgot to say.

In my mind,

but off the record

is the thought of your thousands of curls.

I can swim, inebriated, in that blonde sea

until my cheek finally lands on the small of your shoulder.

I like to think of it,

as Al Pacino once said,

as the line between the body and the soul.

The shoulder: the modern day frontier,

Timeless and insurmountable.

Incalculably enticing.

Suggestive of the seductive.

But the innocence you reincarnate

is what makes me ache

-explode in agony-

in a desire to better myself,

to be deserving of you.

My hand takes hard hold round your hip.

It keeps you close so my thoughts cannot stray.

And if they did, one might wonder

where they would possibly wander.

Simply off to fantasies of you,

though nothing can compare to

the heat of your breath,

the stare in your hazel eyes,

the melodic resonance of your laughter,

the halting purity of your tears,

the words which compose such bewitching spells

dancing about a bubble-gum tongue,

bubbling from luscious lips.

Together, our silence is a bleat of the world’s last hope for sanity.

Apart, I am insane.

But not while I still have your words.

Words that give rise to palpitations.

Words that ring like symphonic harmonics;

choice for a thirsty ear.

Who would you hurt that didn’t deserve it?

Who do you fear?

They will be given reason to fear you.

I am at your whim while you are at my side.

Pull, push, or prod, I surrender.

For what other choice does a sane man have?

I offer you all I have

All I am

All I will ever be.

And all I ask in return is that one syllable,

the one that means

“I promise”.

The four letters that say

“forever”.

she made me speechless, and here’s the words I forgot to say.

In my mind,

but off the record

is the thought of your thousands of curls.

I can swim, inebriated, in that blonde sea

until my cheek finally lands on the small of your shoulder.

I like to think of it,

as Al Pacino once said,

as the line between the body and the soul.

The shoulder: the modern day frontier,

Timeless and insurmountable.

Incalculably enticing.

Suggestive of the seductive.

But the innocence you reincarnate

is what makes me ache

-explode in agony-

in a desire to better myself,

to be deserving of you.

My hand takes hard hold round your hip.

It keeps you close so my thoughts cannot stray.

And if they did, one might wonder

where they would possibly wander.

Simply off to fantasies of you,

though nothing can compare to

the heat of your breath,

the stare in your hazel eyes,

the melodic resonance of your laughter,

the halting purity of your tears,

the words which compose such bewitching spells

dancing about a bubble-gum tongue,

bubbling from luscious lips.

Together, our silence is a bleat of the world’s last hope for sanity.

Apart, I am insane.

But not while I still have your words.

Words that give rise to palpitations.

Words that ring like symphonic harmonics;

choice for a thirsty ear.

Who would you hurt that didn’t deserve it?

Who do you fear?

They will be given reason to fear you.

I am at your whim while you are at my side.

Pull, push, or prod, I surrender.

For what other choice does a sane man have?

I offer you all I have

All I am

All I will ever be.

And all I ask in return is that one syllable,

the one that means

“I promise”.

The four letters that say

“forever”.

In my mind,

but off the record

is the thought of your thousands of curls.

I can swim, inebriated, in that blonde sea

until my cheek finally lands on the small of your shoulder.

I like to think of it,

as Al Pacino once said,

as the line between the body and the soul.

The shoulder: the modern day frontier,

Timeless and insurmountable.

Incalculably enticing.

Suggestive of the seductive.

But the innocence you reincarnate

is what makes me ache

-explode in agony-

in a desire to better myself,

to be deserving of you.

My hand takes hard hold round your hip.

It keeps you close so my thoughts cannot stray.

And if they did, one might wonder

where they would possibly wander.

Simply off to fantasies of you,

though nothing can compare to

the heat of your breath,

the stare in your hazel eyes,

the melodic resonance of your laughter,

the halting purity of your tears,

the words which compose such bewitching spells

dancing about a bubble-gum tongue,

bubbling from luscious lips.

Together, our silence is a bleat of the world’s last hope for sanity.

Apart, I am insane.

But not while I still have your words.

Words that give rise to palpitations.

Words that ring like symphonic harmonics;

choice for a thirsty ear.

Who would you hurt that didn’t deserve it?

Who do you fear?

They will be given reason to fear you.

I am at your whim while you are at my side.

Pull, push, or prod, I surrender.

For what other choice does a sane man have?

I offer you all I have

All I am

All I will ever be.

And all I ask in return is that one syllable,

the one that means

“I promise”.

The four letters that say

“forever”.