You see, I know what's real and not
To some degree
I know you're lovely,
crazy beautiful,
Honey in the sun

I have eyes
Ears
I know I'm weird
Hell,
I argue with my daughter over which toys are hers and mine
To play with

Ive tasted "store honey"
And "wild honey"

You
Are
Wild Honey

I wish to drip You
On my dry tongue

Steal you,
from the bees

Keep your golden self
In my glass jar

But,

You,
Are
Wild honey

The sun can't make up for
Missing body heat
My maple leaf was torn
Cold spike was driven deep.
Sticky sap flows from me
My soul has been tapped
My sweetest flavors flowing
Won't ever get them back
Strands of shared pleasure
Wrapping around your hands
Connections with no measure
Getting messy wasn't the plan,
But you penetrated my bark
Seeking this supple blood
Bliss for your starving tongue
Left me empty now that you're gone.

She loosens on tiptoe
the latch of her window,

slides upward the sash
and the shine of the moon

pours over the sill,
like it's rushing downhill

like a silver stream,
flooding her room.

it can be hours of silence
I strain to hear above it
adjusting the headphones
the small voices that hide between the wind
and the settling of the house
the leaves jostling about
brushing the roof
I push myself to continue
whispered footsteps from upstairs
birds greeting the yet unlit morning
this house is alive
with the dead who remain
and when I am about to succumb
to the blur of exhaustion
the child comes through...
'Mommy!'
not once, but multiple cries
the sadness and fear in her voice
is palpable
and I am helpless to help her

how many hundreds of years has this child
repeated her cries
in this house
in this room
refusing to leave
still searching for her mother

To my friends
who can write
fresh-smelling
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.

A crescent moon

glows white

with

It's angelic

halo through

a shroud of

dark clouds,

soulmates

within the

shower of the

pouring rain,

love

Is the only

true sense

that's felt

when the

desert

Is misted

In dunes, when

the souls begin to feel

the depths of warmth

and the monsoon revives

the barren sands, and all

Is paradise.

Blanketed in darkness,
Mesmerized by natures nightlights
Finding solace in the shadows of the moon.
     Embracing her beauty,
     Comforted by her tranquility
     Envious of her courage

I feel the tug of the connection,
     P u l l i n g... P u l l i n g...
Silently grasping
Constantly at war
               with the rise of the sun.
               with the conflicting thoughts of flight

Lost in the moon's beauty,
Thoughts and feels engulf me
          Seeking answers
          Seeing peace
Whispers of worries quietly spoken
Solitude reveals truths

Do you look up at the same sky
                  and see the same moon?
She shines brightly to remind you,
      where the light can be,
Guidance, serenity, silent comfort.
Promoting freedom and peace
          Reborn each night.

Lover of the moon,
     Mysterious and bright,
            Holder of secrets and wishes
                   Under its light,
                            we love,
                            we dance,
                            we forget,
                            we remember,
                            we meet.