One day,
The roof of this ancient building will cave
And the remnants held within
Will fade away with time,
And the hourglass will empty,
Never to be flipped again.

As the sand drops,
Dust will be left in it's wake;
A new home for stories and handprints,
Visceral imagery that screams,
"We were here."

Humans have always and forever
Wanted to be known,
You and I,
Wanted to be known —
Known by each other,
In those few hours we spent together.

This old building knows our story,
And our lives are written on the walls.
It broke my heart to see,
That our handprints had been erased.

It broke my heart because,
To disturb the dust,
Is to disturb the story.

At least,
That's what you told me
In that brief moment
So long ago.

I never wrote poems about you.
No matter how hard I tried,
I never could seem to make
All the words flow.
Maybe that was the first sign,
That our love,
Was never meant to be.
Maybe that was the first sign,
I so delicately chose,
Not to read.

The night fills my lungs.
As the jasmine blooms so sweet.
Fireflies in a jar.

She runs rampant,
Dancing with the demons,
While the angels
Flutter dauntless above.

A combination of both,
She is,
Filled with endless, burning love.

Eyes of flames,
That lick at the lips,
And a mouth,
Of sinful wit and smoke.

She has a laugh,
That draws lovers near,
And snakes to Eden.

And her tears,
Which shake the world,
And make Heaven itself cry.

She is perfect.

And she is a monster.

She is the fiery one,
With six, great wings
To hold her high above it all.

Enjoy the view,
But do not be fooled,
She is the fiery one,
With the deepest depths to fall.

The poets all lied.

Eyes are not the window to the soul.
If that were the case,
All humans would be empaths,
And we'd be free from plague and war.

After all,
It's easy to gaze through the glass.

Eyes,
Are the manuscripts of survival,
And it takes a trained researcher
To decipher the ramblings
And recounts of a life lived in full.

Every glance.
Every dart.
Every blink.
Every tear.

Every eye writes words of trauma,
And histories of realities,
Which one cannot understand
As simply,
As one can stare through the pane.

I hope that one day,
My bones are left to rot
And my carcass feeds our Earth.

God,

I hope that some day,
My body embraces infinity
And that our great universe,

Becomes all mine to see.