Only me,
looking at the blue sky,
and the blue looking at me,
No doubts,

Only me,
lying on lavish grass and breathing
the smell of wet earth after rain,  
No doubts,

Only me,
and my sweet pain reflecting
into each other’s eyes,
No doubts,

Only me,
and you kissing the
droplets of hidden desire,
No doubts,

The best poems are
written when we are
in the midst of emotional
turmoil.

the ninth shade
embraces mountain peaks
in the pure clarity of morning

frost clings to sagebrush
in the ascending sunlight
of the third-quarter moon

and as life pauses
to apprehend the spectacle
of a wintry summer morning

my bones feel
the transition of season
as autumn draws near

The slicing sting of the blade as it strokes my skin
Is not pain
But relief
From the raw bleeding within.

The draining drips of crimson as it drowns the floor
Is not unsettling
But reassuring
Compared the truest stomachache of all.
Living