You worship at My shrine and give
Your sweet and labored love
You tell Me “i’d give my whole life to You”
And “I only want to be held by You”
I look down and swallow it whole
It is not enough
Though ripe and plump
And full to bursting
It is not enough

Is it fair of Me to ask a mortal to feed My thirst?
Is it fair that I look for a different taste
A better fruit then what anyone can offer
You built My temple and made Me whole
But it is not enough
And your fruit is simply too sweet

If I demand you to wait
While I look for a better taste
Would you?
If I told you to kneel
At My holy shrine
Until your knees bleed
And your fruit rots
I know you would

lovers forgo their faces
       defacing in the act
mammering their information to unreadable smudges
  they slur in kinetic fluctuation
experimenting material forms fray
     each    the others face is vented away
     betray being human
  no separated being
and then...

     to return in the tender moments following
             a bumbling landfall
then they are athletes
     enamoured and praising of the other
     flushed and radiating
having rushed the life from their breath
they heave in its return

Later     in a **** trip down to the night kitchen
they forgo they faces in a foxes forage
hers ; over-lit by the fridge light
          face thrown into a mask by extreme shaddows
his ; beyond this light in the dark
they are bodies
sneak children
the raider and the lookout

after many years make the familiar relation
her face disappears into a hand mirror
and his is pulled out
into a middle distance beyond the dresser
durred in thought and waiting for 'go'
to the restaurant tonite
or that career social that neither wishes to attend

                                        - fell shy of Eden

We lay together in darkness as your hand trails down and rests between my thighs.
Your light caresses send me shivering into a world not entirely my own.
Your fingers dance in me, sliding through puddles, finding hidden doorways I'd thought long gone.
I brace your wrist, fingers encircle.
Don't stop. Never stop.

Sticky white cream upon your face,
Gushed out of my pipe at fast pace.

Now open wide for my surprise,
I'll try this time to dodge thine eyes.

My milk is sweet and fairly warm,
Lets hath more fun from dusk till dawn.

loving often feels like running hurdles
but it's endless; there is no specified finish line
you keep jumping hurdles
and you keep running

you brush aside fatigue
you brush aside pride
you burn the desire to quit

you don't stop running.
that's what love is:
running endless hurdles.

we are waves clashing,
to a pinnacle
from which we either fall into each other,
or
veer away.

and we both know,
what I want.

When youth was moth, love flowed over us in prismatic waves—systems of romance.

Then came the phoenix of your heart, and everything was a ceiling. I moved clockwise past infinite shadow and onto your wall.

Sorry to wake you. [...] I forgot to tell you something. [...] I'm like the sun or perhaps the moon. And there are times when I know I'll make you sad.

Distant polyglot in its timbres, its psychological profile, and its pulse, it could not sound less like a soundtrack for a search. More like a Middle Eastern funeral.

Stemmed from a shared anxiety over self-definition in an indefinite world, and each of them has searched for answers in the amorphous space between where “you” end and “I” begin.

By turns, august and sweet—revealed a complex stillness, a set of detached passions attempting to rebuild themselves, a desensitized state searching for soul.

I have loved you into oblivion and now move into thin air. Please remember me as a time of day. As long as you can hold your breath, we'll always be together.