Love Letter 5

Dear DM,

During my daily tarot readings I have noticed a common theme. Release the past. Be true to yourself. I have already spoken about the former so today I decided to delve into the latter. Am I being honest with myself about what I desire from our connection? Is my patience an affectation? I am not patient. I am hungry. Am I being honest about what I want to achieve as an individual? Am I still wild or have I become accustomed to settling for approximations? Do I seek comfort over adventure? Am I a living/breathing embodiment of pure, undiluted passion? Do I still have it within me to incite and inspire? By nature I am intense and passionate and sometimes I get carried away. I like a little obsession with my love. I am flawed to the point of disfigurement. Does that scare you?

I was chatting with a friend today and she complimented my ability to accept the status quo. I have always thought of the status quo as the antithesis of life, something along the lines of limbo. I thought that to live fully meant action/reaction/continuous reinvention. At some point I became aware that I was seeking distractions in order to numb and escape myself. I realized that one can find, even within the most ordinary moments, inspiration, passion, wonder, and depth of sentiment. For the ordinary to become extraordinary we have only to be receptive and present, we have only to submerge ourselves in the experience. What if all of life could be a celebration? When I think of you I like to imagine our life as it would be in the day to day sense (this isn’t the only way I imagine us). We are already extraordinary, no alterations are enhancements needed. There is not a person in this world who does not possess the capacity to manifest miracles. In dreams the simplest touch from you awakens emotions and sensations within me that are nothing short of miraculous. How could I possibly fathom the potential of the flesh? To hold you, heart to heart, would unravel me! I want to unraveled.

I started this letter with a clear intention but as usual I ramble. I want everything with you. All of it. I want the everyday moments. I want to be pursued with a passion that borders on obsessive. I want to heal. I want to discover our mission and submerge myself in it, whole-heart. I want to laugh with you. Hold you. Fuck you. Fall apart in your arms. Soothe you. Inspire you. Kiss you with abandon. I don’t want to wait even if it is reckless. I want to take my time getting to know you. I want you all to myself. I want to surrender you along with myself. I realize that my list of “desires” is contradictory and rather vague. If I said lets live together and figure it all out after would that sound crazy to you? Desperate? Escapist? For all that I have said and not said at the end of the day I want you, just as you are. Not the “perfect”, “censored”, “tailored” version but the you which is still vulnerable, still wild.



I wake to find you

inside of my head,

my thoughts pushed aside

like a curtain

and your essence

thick as cream

saturating my senses.

You have something to say,

something that can 

only be said in the off hours

when we are

too naked for cover.

I wake to find you

digging a crawl space

inside of my soul

and you are so lost

that I can’t tell

where my body begins.

I wake to find your voice 

inside of my head

“I’m gonna steal you.”

and how can you steal me

when we belong together?

I wake to find your heart

fluttering in the palm

of my hand and your fear,

palpable as blood,

spilling between

my trembling fingers.

You say you’re obsessed

and it scares you.

Should I take that as a sign

that you’ve reached your limit,

that you might not be able

to hold back next time 

I get overwhelmed?

You say you’re obsessed

but I am too.

I just want to drink

of your endless fire.

I just want to breakthrough

before my walls collapse.

I just want fall apart

in your arms

the way the universe

dies each time it is reborn.


I am dissolving like winter

beneath your fingertips.

The weight of your body

settles against my borders

and I am making room

inside of myself for you.

You erect a monument

between my thighs,

a monument held together

entirely by the friction of poetry.

You might as well love me.


You are planting flowers

on my skin with your mouth.

You are burying yourself

in me as if I were a garden

and everything about you

feels like spring.

In the wake of countless deaths

I am made to feel permeable again.

You might as well love me.


We stick together like

summer and the heat

of your body

is making me malleable.

I am folding and refolding

underneath you like a kept promise.

I feel you on the underside of my scars,

overflowing with thunder

and the ghosts in mind

are finally quiet.

You might as well love me.


I am coming apart in your arms

and the lines that separate us

have all been drawn in water.

I can’t distinguish myself.

I keep finding myself in you.

The gravity of your soul

is the only thing 

holding me together.

You might as well love me.


You move like autumn

and I am ricocheting

against you like a scream.

The currents between us

are tearing me apart.

The currents between us

are feeding our hunger.

I won’t let you leave now that

you’re wrapped so tightly.

You might as well love me.

Drowning in Ether


I am drowning in ether,
a constellation of seas
that is neither here nor there.
Is it your dream or is it mine?
I think it must be the collaboration
of two similar but supremely unique minds.

I’ve pulled all my doubts out by the roots
and examined them from every angle.
Still I cannot find a single instance
of reality that is not filtered through perception.
We are what we believe ourselves to be.

In my heart the stars congregate
and though I can only be measured
in fractions I am still a reflection of the whole.
In that musical, amorous womb
there is a universe on the cusp of crowning.
I am mediocrity elevated through inspiration.

You are a fire
that quenches while it burns.
I search for you
as the ocean searches for the moon
and like the moon
I can feel you even
when the shadows
hide your face.
I swallow you
without discarding,
and all that you are
will find sanctuary in me.
I empty myself into you,
unleashing my multitudes
into your alluring mouth
like a song at the moment
of its inception.

Writing Prompt #179 “Collage 30” and Wordle #122


Does it eat you up inside?
Does it stagger your imaginings?

I unhinge my appendages
and shrink into blackness.
A howling shibboleth,
a kyrkogrim quarantined.
I am void. I am sacred.

The gloam rescinds
into hollows of sunlight.
I pose solicitously by a wall,
each petal a key
to a dimension unfathomed.

The density of ink,
of a spirit bled and reapplied.
I succumb to endeavor,
to feints and static,
to windowsills smudged
with countless identities.

There is wisdom in instinct,
in the consummate craving.
I shelter within a tweed jacket,
pockets nicked by shadow.
So long as I remain, I will divide.


Wordle #245


I touch your root,
the empty witness,
the brief erotic spark held-
tongue’s length-between us.

I endure for we are not endless,
not without claim or resolution.
All the threads between us are red,
thick as whispers, they speak in riddles.

What feeds you?
What fires the furnace
of your rare, intransigent heart?
Grace extinguished,
how does one entangle the light?

Your shadow-white as an exclamation-
claws its way through my bones.
We make love in rooms
without corners, in planetary bodies
effacing themselves, in the igneous womb
of our primary malfunctions.

Writing Prompt #116 “Collage 2″

Collage 2

TL: Yves TR and BL Free Google Wallpapers BR: Holunder

Such hunger as feasts

On the appetite

Cannot possibly

Be extinguished.

It is best worked out

To the bloody end.

I climbed a tree today,

Though only with my eyes

As the occupation terrifies.

I prayed for rain

To wash the worms

From my flesh

But it never came.

Grave robbers are always

Equipped with teeth

Even if they lack

The impetus to erase life.

My heart,

A pumice stone,

Files my ribs to ash.

I ought to dance,

To drape the veil

Over the windows

Trample the demons

Brazen enough to surface

In the light of day

But I love them

These vices, this vise-like pen

This diary that will not close.


Wordle #146 “Muses”


The others are indelicate

With simmering bucolic eyes.

That exacerbate potential.

They tiptoe along the rivers’

Slovenly edge

Missing step after step

But never the beat

Of their former synergy.

The others are cruel

Balancing teacups

Between thumb and forefinger.

Their open hearts unzipping

Alternate frames.

Lips greasy with adipose,

They’ve got a craving

For marrow, for senses

Gloriously deranged.

The others are instinct

Uncompromising poems

Thrust posthumously

Into the public’s tremulous gaze.

Scandalous, they eat endeavor

Like squares of softening chocolate.

Their rebellions, sawed in half

With the soles of discarded boots,

Stomp forward, all or nothing

Obliging no one, not even the keeper.

Wordle #163


Paving stones

Undulate beneath

A jovial launch.

We collide slowly

In an open field,

Sturdy hearts victim

To a primordial chase.

Terrain, notwithstanding,

I wrestle your lean body

To the ground,

A blanket woven

Of countless filaments.

We play at games

Of flesh and metaphor,

Our frames fluid and scented

With the spice of propulsion.


A bit of silliness from me when I saw the words I just could not shake that classic and cliched scene of a young couple running slowly toward one another in an open field.

Wordle #178


I’ve made a meal of your center,

Your words my sustenance

Your blood, my refreshment.

I know that you are more

Fluff than marrow

And this is why I pester,

Why I rearrange

Your teeth and bowels

Until your joints

Soften from the pain

Like spoon-tilled jello.

A test by any other application

Wouldn’t be so cruel but than you

Wouldn’t try so hard to surpass

Your stone-crushing anxiety.

In the end we all find our way

To the hospital, sutures adorning

An essential ouch, might as well

Dream while our eyes still open.