A daylight painted in a night shade
In the circle of a thunderous grumble...

'you have hid your beautiful self under
beautiful clothes'.

But then, I saw she spoke to no one.
Near the quiet
pathway which separated us from spirits  
at the market
where three paths dance in direction of the gods.. .

Ah!
Aziza danced up dust to his sacred being
Magnified by the quiet presence
of the pathways.
She spoke again,

'good for you
You have hid yourself
Under the restful shade of earth'.

When I could see she was dressed
as the unbeautiful look
seated by some flesh of,
swollen earth,
I Knew
suddenly.

A daylight vanishing to her peaceful rest
In the circle of a thunderous grumble
I staring with her
at Silence...

And still,
in the complete silence,
the universe
whispers your
name
and I
stretch out my fingertips,
searching for
you in the
overwhelming

darkness.

Tell me my wounds are beautiful
And that the pain I feel is justified
Prove the pen is not my only friend
Sew me up and sit a while, be my time
The voice in my head won't fill full
We'll cry until we're numb as iced

people write poems comparing
smiles to sunsets and rain
and stars and meteor showers

eclipsing entirely that sunsets give way to the charcoal wraith of night
rain riddles the most novel of metals
supernovas sink entire galaxies
and meteors are just meteorites with less ambition

but what about earthquakes
and black holes
and wildfires

rib rattling
song swallowing
too close for comfort

what once warmed us to our core now leaves us in embers

and still we burn for more

there's ice on the windshield,
overlapping, mirroring itself in an array like scales.

i scrape and scrape and scrape;
the ice would still remain.

it distorts.
hazards look like brakelights.
"Is something wrong?"
pedestrians resemble road signs.
"To where are you guiding me?"
road markings... nothing.
"Have I gone too far?"

i dare not try to change lanes
for fear of crashing
and bursting into a crowd of yellow and red octopuses that hug like a bloom.

but the warmth wouldn't reach me.
it wouldn't even melt the ice.
if the fire were on the inside,
the ice would still remain,
sealing me inside,
keeping me inside,
keeping me safe,
keeping the world safe...

i can't find my way.

I kissed her, my hair in our eyes.
I pulled back, mystified.
She made me feel poetry.
And her skin was poetry,
delicate and savory.
I was so inspired that
I couldn't find the words.
"Seeing that she's nearly a stranger,"
I thought,
"I'll have to show her later."

Her beach sand is sprinkled with fine sea shells.
I'll spend the evenings studying them all.

And I am a boy
who has never seen the ocean -
the vastness in her eyes that I
would love to get lost in.

Some say
"Math is hard."
I grin
Hiding
Thinking
What I
Would give
To be
Able
To love
The way
Love ought
To be.

the prettiest picture i paint
is biting cold, cobalt steel
counting down to
my great relief,
wondering if my teeth
will shatter
before eight pounds of pressure
turns all my thoughts, desires, and memories
into
the prettiest picture i paint.

a second light comes crawling
this time through the window,
reminding me I survived
another night wading
through the fiery lakes of hell,
naked as my soul on a cool night with a new love.

everything else is so easy.
it's all relative, isn't it?
and this is my reference point,
my floor.