In the day  
when sundry eyes cast envious glances,  
we share the same couch—  
your head resting in my lap,  
your temple syncing with my pulse.  

In the night
just you and me—  
or you and me separated by screens,  
your breath curling like a rattlesnake,  
your vampire teeth peeking through.  

You don’t reply.  
You answer in your head—  
or not at all.  
You skip my texts like stones on water.  

And I—  
I cannot cry.  
That’s what I know.  
I’m a man, darling.  
I have manly genes.  
So I forge words.  

I write them until I cannot,  
until the rhyme dries up—  
when all poets sleep,  
when my foes grow tired of watching,  
when creatures of the night stop chiseling the air.  

Still,  
I type—  
through the silence.

Breathing
Putrid air
In my lungs

Longing
For the putrid air
Never goes away

What I would give
To hold that little stick
And not feel like I let myself down

A pretty girl peaks a guy's interest.
They talk a bit but she won't give in.
To her, he's a mystery to question.
Is he greater or less than expected?

He wishes he could remain that way,
filling in blanks with what she wants.
If he knew luxury is what she desires,
he'd try to stay a mystery or be a liar.

He might take her to the Ritz
and tell her he's rich.
In reality, he's no such thing,
but he dreams.

This morning, out my windowsill
was a vibrant cardinal resting tranquil and still,
sitting on a limb with solace and halcyon calm,
singing a soothingly mellifluous song,
all of a sudden, emotions flooded upon me,
a nostalgic moment, from when I was young,
years upon years ago,
my grandmothers making breakfast,
my grandfather, reading the paper across from me,
in good health, laughing,
we're both content as can be,
there, just for a moment, we're together again
every time I see a cardinal now, I think of him
my own warm, sweet memories
from a simpler time, now intertwined