Your perfect love is a sunrise
to my cool and easterly heart.
The light you bring seeks for me
after many nights chasing the moon.

With dawn, I lose sight
of what the orb ever meant to me,
as you drown its scant light
and silence the stars.

It's cold, always was.
You're burning, for me.

The vibrance night stole,
you restore and replenish
with every slow tick of the axis.
Color floods fields and valleys
I'd wandered deep in darkness;
dew steams to scents of summer
as I watch treaded grasses spring to life.

It's here I sit.
Lost on tangled paths
I was sure were meant to lead me,
I forged another, alone,
and built a home.

You shine in through its windows,
seep in past my walls, and,
as I watch and wait for you,
you quietly reach for more of me.

Never fall in love with a poet
they are rather a funny lot
they dream all day
and at night they write

They are a restless bunch
most are f**ked off with life
they talk in rhymes most of the time
and that is not the end of their idiosyncrasies

They can be so touch and go
so flighty with fancies
so never touch one
if they are in love with their art

For if you do
they will break your heart
so take my word
never fall in love with a Poet

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Looking back, it's almost comical
to think of times I've sought shortcuts
and found myself fumbling
into dead-ends and dark alleys.

I did not know you can't cheat time.
I did not know I was trying.

Looking around, I'm still in this town,
and all roads have led me to now.
On this route, I've been mugged
for all that I had
seeking the easy way out.

all of my journals
are graveyards
of half-written things
and half-lived experiences
with half-hearted repentance,
because i can't even commit
to being noncommital.

still,
flipping through them offers
a full representation
of the half-alive girl
who wrote them.

My breath,
light and quickening,
candle flame flickering,
rose-scented sweat
     on my skin

Your fists,
clenched like iron grips,
backs arched to our tips,
bridging where we'll go,
     where we've been

But tomorrow,
in the sunrise,
with both of us here,
will you think about me?
or about her and everything?
The kindling you saw in her eyes
when she told you
if she wasn't his,
you'd be hers
(and if you not mine,
then her, yours).

When I grabbed at the sheets
and you grabbed for your jeans
Was it about your hurry?
or about her and everything?
Everything, everything, all of and anything,
anything that is not me.

I can feel,
acutely,
the chasm in my chest.
Perhaps
it was Lewis
who thought and said it best.

My words are stifled echoes,
my mangled hands are tied,
and the heavy doors of Hell
are locked from the inside.

The leaf and the petal
Earth elemental
Rich soil
from which spring sprouts spirit.

The honey and metal
Forged in a kettle
Will whistle
for all who will hear it.

They meet in the meadow,
this lady and fellow.
Ignite, and catch flight
on the wind.
Stardust and cinder
from fusion of splendor
return to the ether again.