Final Pitch

Last-Chance-Prince

It is true, I have not been away from you for very long.
Long enough for some, perhaps, to forget part or all
of everything we have shared between us.
But for me, the parting has only made you shine
in everything I see and everything I hear.
I shame to admit that I seek distraction from it
but it is so tiresome to see you on the television,
to read you in my books and hear you in my music.
I have tried, at times, to forget you with great effort.
But my mind shouts, speaks, and whispers your name
in a rambling fashion of which I have poor understanding
and little control over completely quieting.
Some last mad dash effort is necessary on my part,
if I am to relieve myself of this amazing torture
or sweeten it the amazing circumstance it can be.
I know the way I need to look at you, act with you.
The way I need to feel for you is ever present
and, I am sure, will quench the most carefully laid plans
if you even so but gesture for the reigns that day.
For, it is clear to me, I would fall over myself
through the worst heartache, in the foulest of mud
to make that briefest of connections with you.

Wiz, Bang, Boom!

Explosion Inside

I am guilty of having saught distraction from and for you.
If this sin will bear me my desired than I will gladly burn.
As I have attempted to understand how I must be
I have discovered that the attitude to follow cannot lose in the end.
For although I may intimately know loss as I raise you in embrace,
the prospect of how I must push away to let you come
leads me into the throws of life's wonderful arms
and all the things she offers of those who seek her out.
Although you may become her soon, she can wait for me without.
Your lips are not the same, for I have kissed them both.
Your bodies are not close, for I have intimately worshiped
yours in ways that no other could ever understand.
I am saddened by your illusion as sleep, even as I can smell
the most sudden fading bit of your scent escape my memory.
But I will never forgot your touch, your site, your heart.
She may wait and beckon me out into a strange land,
and we may follow her together or separately.
I am bursting with fire inside now, and you can only burn me brighter.
Just remember, that however we leave this point
and whatever direction we each choose to go...
she will always remind me of you.

A Flaw in the Plan

Renewed Constitution

I am not scared any longer to think that this moment will pass.
For, I have come to see in the most basic sense that nature's laws hold
--all things will eventually cease to be when disorder has had its last say.
Even though we fancy these to be moments of order,
how often do we reflect upon how stumble from one situation to the next?
The fortunate are those who can step in any direction they please
for these lucky souls are truly masters of their own lives.
With more power to correct any mistake than every lesser man,
with more heart to feel the boundless joys and endless sorrows,
with more insight and understanding, watching the universe like a wristwatch.
I have longed to move beyond the tiny gears and leap into heavens
with these lucky few, overseeing what is truly 'the big picture'.
But as blessed as I am, I am not one who can step that far outside my circumstance.
I struggle to lift each successive step as I move toward you.
You, dear, who are on the outside watching as I will me towards you.
At some strange turn, a thought occured to me and I paused,
taking a deep breath I turned away from you and threw a passing glance.
If I am going to make it outside, then I will face this puzzling thing
with a direct approach--because here, I think I now know
that to eventually get back to you, I have to start walking away.

Planning

A Desperate Final Sortie

Tonight I hatched a plan that's perfect and,
indeed, it is somewhat sinister in its nature--
there is no more pure target than the human heart.

It's some form of deserved turnabout, in a way.
For when I had first acquired yours
I had no idea of its incredible value.

I left it on a shelf where its slow pulse and gentle glow
were a constant comfort for me.
But such a treasure needs to be constantly cared for
and I was often neglectful in my duties.

When its upkeep was in its saddest state of display
you cried your soul out to part from me
and decided to take back your most precious thing.

Before the day, I would frequently find myself grasping my chest
and wonder what pain had gripped me now.
I knew when you held out your hand, palm up and asked for it back.
I was stunned and fumbled around for it.

But on that day, in my haste to find out
how I could possibly have yours back
I handed you two.

I don't know if you ever appreciated or even noticed it,
but this is no more than what I deserve.

I believe my desire now is enough proof to pay for one.
I do not desire mine any longer, for its value is for you.
If I must become a dark thief, then I will use whatever you desire
to sweetly acquire this greatest of treasure.

These things will be yours for as long as you want,
if you allow me even a piece of your heart to move me forward.

Strange Apparitions

Mirage

I am long resolved of many things in life
and have been blessed often with Mother Nature's fortune.
My successes have sent me many places
and I have become close friends with sweat and tears.
But is not upon the fields we have bleed in victory
that we reflect upon our circumstance.
The lonely plains of defeat is from whence our minds wander
with the most depressing of constitutions.
Sober or drunk, it matters not, since from here
we only stumble until the next challenge
makes us forget where we were coming from.
I have steadied my legs many times for this purpose
and they are strong from all of the wear.
My heart, unfortunately, is no better off in these times
and squeezes barely and meekly with great pain
in order to move this mountain that is my body and my life.
You have stretched the field so far now that I see no end
and my direction is not governed by any good site
except for that of your mirage in the distance.
Soon, I think, how close it will be.

C-C-Catch up

Bearing All

I have searched long enough in my life to know my worth,
but among all the things I have seen and experienced
nothing could have prepared me for you.
Perhaps, at first, I was bluffing because I did not believe
what and who had happened to wander onto my path.
When I felt certain that this was not a cruel joke
I was shocked and stumbled about to gather all of my chips
so I could quickly and proudly push them all in.
But I had never before accomplished this ritual--
I was slow and methodical in my approach.
Too much so, as I did not even notice you walk away.
And when I glanced around with my goofy smile
as I extended my arms forward triumphantly,
I realized to my great horror that I was alone.
Even now, my soul pours out endlessly to you, my dear,
even though you are not here to receive it.
I do not know what else is longer left to be said, other than,
"You are amazing."
And I am unsure how to show you your worth,
(how do you show space that is it limitless?) even though
I know you mean more to me than the sum of all things.
Still, my value endeavors to suffice for yours.
Even now, I bear my beating heart to you, my dear,
even though you may gently crush it so.

Reflection of a Stargazer

Perennial

So many times has love been compared to a flower--
how it blossoms slowly and with such beauty,
how it withers, and, eventually, how it dies.
But I have seen love firsthand so many times
and to me is ever perennial in its endurance
and need for constant renewal.
It is not that it is a shallow or even finite well,
but it is that so often that we forget in our haste
to even send the bucket down again.
For some this is a laboring and strange task
and for others, oh, dear, we do nothing
but want to sit at that side of those stones
and pull that rope for all of time.
When the plant has not been watered,
it will shrink inward and dry up.
But it is resilient in the same way as the sea
that pounds great rocks into sand.
For when we take the chance to struggle with that rope
and retrieve water from the well,
this dry twig can roar back to life.
And, we are the same way, my dear.
Is it not strange that even as we thirst,
we refuse to let someone retrieve that water?

Spanish Guitar

Stolen Beauty

I do not know from where you have stolen your beauty,
although I can wager that much of the heavens has lost something.
The earth sees your hair move in its winds and sighs,
for it is jealous that it cannot touch it when it pleases.
The water of the earth sees your everso damp lips and shining eyes
and wonders why it cannot always gleam so temptingly.
The air can feel your breath mix with its moving currents
and hear your hushed tones, only guessing at times
the many ways they are able to make men's hearts dance.
All the stars in the universe watch you in the light and in the dark,
curious as to how such a collection of earthbound qualities
has raised you to heights beyond their limits as they watch,
fixed in place and fixed on you. You, who are unaware as you dance
about their endless playground with the careless joy of a nymph.
Poor downtrodden boy I am, nothing of mine sparkles like you
and where I was once lucky to skip happily by your side in your hand,
I sit and gaze you from afar, wondering along with all of existence.
I manage a wry smile as I see the stars twinkle for you
and beckon you away, begging for you to play in their fields.
But perhaps I was the only thief in this story--
to have spent time with you seems beyond the grace of luck
and I do not know how I even got you in the first place.

Insite

Polished Eyes

Looking at the world with fresh eyes
means that all the things that once were new
are new again, as if time rewound.

It is truly a strange spectacle, that
I see all the best in us around me with regret
and with so much fear and angst.

It is good to know that the Pandora's box
of my soul has the same tell-tale hope left.
The story is aptly appropriate in its scale
and its subtle truth.

The fantasy of our problems grandeur
is nothing more than an all too real illusion.

Even if I am hanging on that sad pebble,
it is the real I have always and evermore desire.

These new eyes of mine allow me new insight
as I remember you with an impeccable polish
--the bright glow of your pale skin
and how I can almost see myself in you.

It's not that you are without flaws, (and who is?)
but you are pristine in a way that makes me shine
and excites me for all future possibilities.

Unfortunately, my new eyes tell me
that I deserve you just as much as the old ones did.
And unless my new eyes can will this old body
to convince of you of our worth,
the greatest in you is not but a passing image
and a fleeting last feeling for me.

What a strange long trip

Heat and Light

I have stared out the window in the time when I am lonely
and sometimes I have searched myself for the smallest things.
Often, I think, maintaining the big picture eludes me
as I can think of so many of your wonderful peculiars
but I was never able to grasp your entirety.

Sometimes I believe I skated close to it,
perhaps in the throws of our late nights
or the early slow mornings where we were so comfortable.

Is it the simplicity of your nature which I cannot grasp?
How you never stop smiling when others might flee
or how you can humor in the most wondrous places.

As I stumble around this strange world without you,
I long for the light you shone, your brilliance
was the most profound insite I could not consider on my own,
my guiding path through an incomplete existence
whole, for once.

While I grew inside and waited for God know's what,
the tree of my soul screamed to open its branches for you.
You fed it in every way imaginable and without,
it has shut itself inward in hibernation.

Please, return your heat to me for the purest of reasons
--so that we can see how things were supposed to bloom.

Double Down

Curious Little Thing

Often I will stop at the shore and pickup a curious object
I do not know what I hold as I turn it over slowly in my hand.
I can recognize its texture, its color, its smell
and how it makes me feel as I ponder its nature.

Time has taught me, however, that I cannot anticipate its loss
nomatter if I gently drop in the sand as I walk away
or I throw it violently into the sea.

But after the paces down that coast, I have stopped so many times
and run back to that place of loss, falling to my knees
and desperately shoveling my way to its perceived location
or throwing myself into the sea with abandon.

It is on those rarest of occasions that we find what we seek.
And even as the question of how to keep the thing raises again
and again, we must remind ourselves of how lucky we are
that we were even able to find again in the first place.

A late night requiem...

Another One

I have skirted close to the edge of losing it all
in my tired staggerings I have seen the temptations of others.
The swaying hips of beautiful women brushy gently near and
I think of how I'd long to give in to them all.
But the finest flirtations will not sway my persuasion for you,
for the best kept figures will always pale in comparison.
The genuine novelty of the new has never been my sought goal
but only the comfort that lies in the truth of flesh.
My flesh has meet with the purest example in you
and I will never again be comforted by the arms of another.
Your existence strains my being in a very simple manner,
in that, physically I am bound by an intangible contract
to your call and every last changing desire.
If I am to be celebate, it is because you will it so and
if I will live life again it is only because you have released me
into the wild, to fend for my own away from your harbor.
I know how meaningless the chase of others is,
sicec I have tasted the perfect fruit of your lips
I know that no other will feed my soul in the same manner.
Starving here, I have cried out for an offering so many times
only to be told to persevere and hold my chin up.
I will do so at the cost of all things I am able to pay
if I am abe to have the chance to skate close to you.
I am resolved to lived out the why of service for you.

Morning Beauty

Morning Beauty

Your short gait across the dirt road
makes a rhythmic skipping sound,
as your tiny dog greats you energetically.

Your face is a wonder in the truest sense.
Intensely beautiful, it somehow maintains
the youthful glee of a child and
a wisdom far beyond its time.

Your frame is a marvel to behold
and how you handle it comfortably
more so at peace in your own skin
than any human before has ever been.

How I often longed to kiss every inch of you
and turn it blushed red as we huddled
under the covers late at night.

Your eyes twinkle in the magic way
I have imagined so many times as a child.

You have the power of wit to knock me down
every rung of the ladder I have ever climbed,
but never found it necessary to do more
than smile and encourage me.

The kindness and love you have shown me
are stronger than I will ever be.

You are the darkest nights
where stars shine brighter than we have ever seen.
You are the early morning,
a secret I have shared with the earth
as I have watched its early rays cover you gently.

For not taking every opportunity to
show you how special you are,
I may be doomed to lose all of you.
For not taking every moment to
honestly proclaim how I love you and
spin the web of our lives into a beautiful tapestry,
I may be fortunate to only have a thread.

The mere thought of losing your touch
shakes my very foundation.
And the idea that your love is on a distant shore
that I may never reach again
is enough for me to drown trying to reach it.

But knowing you, I'm placing it all on the line
that you'll swim out and meet me half way.

(No longer) too tired to write a thursday post

Burning Wounds Closed

From the last step to the first, every move is a chance.
We are but shuttles of stardust, carrying our life
in a fragile container as we search for our destined plan.
Sometimes two bodies built of ancient carbon colide
and a spark shoots off to the far far horizon.
This reaction is intensely bright and it is a precursor
for the fire that is sure to quickly follow.
On one particular flip of coin, we decide to feed the fire,
step inside and marvel at how it burns so.
Is it odd to think that our choice has been no more made
even after we see the best ways it can burn?
Instead, we are forced at near cosmic gunpoint
to reach over, pick up and flip that same coin again,
if we are not brave enough to face our attacker
and place it face down on the fire before us.
Those of us who take charge in this fasion instead
toss up the chance of being shot in cold blood.
Often we then try desperately to burn brighter than ever
in order to cauderize the wounds closed.
But in the fire we do not care about such scars.
Only that we are able to continue feeding it,
despite all possible fears, risks, and chances
some of us will risk all and throw everything in
even as the other tries to drown the flames with water.
Sometimes it is hard to remember that we can burn
and it is in those times that we should think of the fire.

Holy Shit It's Like Looking At The Sun

Some Kind of Fortune

I have no words today which will do.
I am a broken young man with, perhaps, a single desire.

Throwing aside all my protection at last
I was riddled with bullets as my armor fell to the floor.

And to tell the truth, I really wasn't
sure that you even knew how to manage that kind of thing.

A part of me is thrilled for you and
that you stand defiant even as I bleed now.

For when I had set out upon my path
I was accutely aware of the risks I could encounter.

When the worst of them were actualized
I could only touch the wounds and manage a grim smile.

To live means you must do this and
to live means that I must let you and I must endure.

As the shock fades from situations
I watch my life pour from my veins as my skin pales.

How do you stop these kinds of things?
Are the plans we make this fragile to flow so quickly?

My skin yet retains some color
as I have somehow stopped the outpouring of my soul.

But my heart is a flutter with doubt,
and longs for the quick release of an open wound.

Ever determined to hold this inside,
this last piece of you, I will survive anything for it.

Since we are comfortable friends, Time,
hold your second hand as long as you like and leave me be.

This Cruel Dream

Uncertain

Sometimes I think all I need is this cruel thing
how it planted itself deep in my dreams and grew.
The seeds of uncertain doubt we share are
trembling little rattle snakes that warn us
to keep our distance. I don't know why,
for some reason we look at these animals
as they plead us to leave them be.
We could dispatch of them quickly, shatting their life.
But the lasting impression this would leave
is so many times worse than just walking away
and forgetting they were ever there.
This territory of theirs is not something
that we should ever want to claim, my dear.
The land before us is no less endless enough without it.
Especially we know it is the flowers from these plants
that we should embrace together.

Oh how how HOW

Back to Good

As I wander aimlessly through endless fields of wheat
I have lost many things in my great journey--
the dark nights of fierce passion have been spent,
all the subtle touches have slowly faded
and the loving looks have passed into memory.
But the impressions that they have left on me,
will last longer than heavens brightest lanterns.
As I am sitting by the slow moving creek,
I run my hands through the tall grass and
fondly ponder these possessions.
They have become my northern star,
my last compass to you--a timeless keepsake,
comfortable and weathered from careful touch.
I am determined to keep it close to me,
and let its needle sway close to my heart.
If I am to wonder the great hills,
I will only see your curves in their slope.
If I am to climb the tallest mountains,
I will imagine the supple peaks of your breasts.
If I am to swim the seas and everlong oceans,
I will remember the endless reflection of your eyes
and feel every tear that you have shed
as I slowly tread the reaches of your soul.
A sudden twitch of the loose needle by my heart
reminds me that the way I will take
on this roundabout path back to you
is not as clear as the one that we walked together.
And it reminds me, that there is only one
who I care to find now.

Working with clay

Tenuous touch
My hands have felt many things in my lifetime,
the smooth hot sand of the beach,
the cold morning winds,
the warm clay of the earth.
But unlike these things
your flesh is without a concise descriptor.
It is smooth like the most worn rocks,
and soft like the clouds in the sky.
If I close my eyes I can picture the tactile sensation.
The sparks shooting from your skin
across my fingertips is captivating
and shorts my heart.
Even now it is motionless
and without the right charge to ignite it so,
having a key to it
does me no good.

And the base keeps running, running and running, running and...

Little Angel

The last wings on which I have flown
were torn from me in the night.

Although I fancied them my possession,
I know myself to be no angel.

Beautiful minx that you are, you smile
and try to tell me that walking isn't so bad.

But I have lived on the earth of man,
walked his fields and bleed his blood--
payment for the toll of many things.

My time there has taught me to look up
and take in the entirety of my sights.

While doing so is when I caught your blur,
soaring high quite near to me
with a freedom you deserve.

Ah, my darling little angel, your many appeals
are a problem for the weak soul--
your hair and its flow is an overture of the wind,
your skin and its glow is the hum of the sun,
the subtle curves of your body,
your crystal eyes and your delicate heart.

When I finally stumbled into your attention with purpose
You were cautious in your approach,
but were honest enough to be clear
that these were yours and to fly
requires more effort than people think.

But you were trusting in me and your first smile
elated me in a way that I could fuel those wings to beat
just as fast as my heart.

Even if I am destined to crash again,
please, darling, trust in me once more
to not fly away with this beautiful gift,
but instead to wrap us together inside
as we tread our way across these fields.

Let me not spend this great lesson of life
on some other earthbound soul.

Let me rejoice in you, my little angel
and all the things you have taught me.
The only wings on which I have flown
were torn from me that night.

I know them to be yours.

What is best in life? To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women

Beneath This Heart

The sharp steel I once wielded has become too heavy.
As I kneel from exhaustion, it falls to the floor
clanking like metal does.

It is peaceful here, in defeat, nearer the earth
and things are so quiet after my determination
has ceased its rattle.

I am no longer sure how to be brave or courageous
and my strength is a fleeting resources that allows
me only to ponder.

But the well inside from which it springs is ever deep
and often strikes wildly in all directions in order
to seek a source.

From underneath a great floor of marble, you
reflect all light, pure and unassuming in your
great reservation.

Somehow I had the fortunate to know your location
and have desperately chipped away toward you
with great desire.

The light here in the receses of the earth is dim
but I have seem just enough of it to know
that it exists.

And, my dear, to know you exist is to know that hope
is more than fairly tales told to keep people going.

Let me breath my last breath into your mouth
and expire with a great show of love
in a resounding kiss.

Even if it is a passing moment, let me refuel in your spring.

Ugh

The Long Haul

In the hall of heaven's passerbys I wait on a marble bench
with my chin resting gently in my palm.
Although their wings are soft and pure like yours
these angels who flutter by are not you.
As I watch them pass, they gaze down at me briefly
with a loving look of pity and do not say a word.
Their silence passes through me like sharp arrows,
but deftly avoiding the last solid piece of my heart.
Just as I am willing to let these young vines
creep upward and envelope my legs,
these souls that pass me are willing to water their ground.
In the time that I have become a fixture of that great room
I have seen all the doors closed, again and again.
A small flower curiously blooms on my knee as one opens
and I watch in with a somewhat sullen anticipation
as it is not you who graces my passing glance.
But sometimes the entirety of space is perfectly quiet
and I can hear you in no particular direction,
just off in the distance and my heart burns to a stop.
I dare not move any part of me and conceal its sound.
I want you to see this, my sad, beautiful cocoon of patience,
just before before you rip me free from its confines.
For in the time that has passed, I have been sapped
of all that strength that would let me do it myself.
As a single red petal falls to the ground,
my eyes close and I can hear you once more.

Biding my time

The Hunted

To have you, I have reached for the horizon
and stretched my limbs as far as they can go.
You are always a moment's touch from my grasp
and glide gracefully away when I try to connect,
just out of reach with a soft face of contemplation
to haunt my every stumbling, mouth full of dirt.

This tireless effort is a task for Sisyphus
and I will bear his mantle proudly with a grimace.
Endless inches will not stop or detour me
and the endless infinite void of space
is our playground for this endeavor.

Oh, how this same misery must have tortured you so
as I stomped carelessly away from your embrace
looking foolhardily toward an opposite horizon.
With the same falls scuffing your knees
I can only imagine the stamina it took
for you to place your faith in a passing glance.

But now I want to reach you at the ever and with every how.
Even if they were pulled on the rack by two Clydesdales
in spite of pain my arms will still continue to extend toward you,
if only to place my hands close enough to feel your heat.

I will not relent and I will return this foolish notion
for the chance that we can both stop our sidestepping
long enough to make this a two sided chase.

Nature is pretty sweet

Natural Beauty

My hands have patiently learned the curves of your face,
as my fingertips have brushed against it gently to touch your lips.
And when I have cradled your head, I keenly try to take in
all the subtle details of your illusive beauty.
The slow slope of your jaw and how it trace so
to the crisp perk of your lips--
they are two insurmountable peaks always in view.
I find myself ever captivated not only by each piece individually,
but by your visage in its entirety and how it echoes so like
the many uniquely beautiful trees in a pristine forest
that lead to a small, shallow pile of apples.
Sometimes it can be too much for me
and I am lost there, wandering for some purpose
retracing my steps across your cheek
and I am struck when I reach the shore to your eyes.
Their endless deep stretches pound violently with passion
like a perfect storm dancing with the oceans waves.
Their subtle details relent with perfect stillness.
Please, allow me to stay lost here
and I will care for these trees with my light,
taking only the apples that are necessary to survive
while resting hopefull and staring from your shore.

A slip of hope?

A Sweet Wind

I have often watched closely in our time together
the way you can sneak in a mischievous smile
and how you always seem to be coyly looking up at me.
Even if it just the slightest tilt of your head
you are evermore the seductress I love.

The warm winds here carry you to me every day
and return you in the still dusk of nocturnal que.
They are untainted by our quarrels and mean thoughts
and instead sing a sweet song of hope.

They sing of how you were my earth and
how you are still my sky
with the whisper of your name,
bringing back all of the smallest dear details of your frame
and how I am destined to intertwine with it.

Oh, how I long for the simplest touch from any part of you.
The simple, clean fragrance and your sweet taste
caresses me even now, without your intent.
It is the same as the beauty of a pure horizon
and weaves itself so in the fabric of desire.
Stumbling like a newborn baby doe
or lashing with the sharp claws of a lioness,
it is the soft sand and it is the sharp rocks.

Cut me with your words, your tongue, your nails,
doing so with a whisper or a glance.
Bid me to dance for you or any herculean task of your choosing
for the chance to be your own.

Loss as a gravedigger

Employee of Loss

Every night, to rest I seek distraction from you in my thoughts.
The pain of loss is not a solvable fancy like others.
She is a gravedigger, smoking a cigarette, showing how
to relax. She says, "Because it takes time to dig this hole
it will take time to fill this hole."
And taking a puff she continues on her steady line of work,
while I watch behind an invisible rope.

Every morning, I wake in a panic as her shovel hits a nerve.
My brain fires images of our successes and of my failures.
But it is the disaster fantasies that ruin my constitution--
they consist of you in ways that are like
a surgery on my emotions without any anesthesia.
Even the false hope of things working or you here now
is simply the cruel grin moving time on her job.

It used to be that every night you gave me respite,
intangibly, as you slept through anything peaceably with a smile.
The world was so small then as I stared at you.
You, dear, are the source of great men's motivation--
the profound way you are able to comfort wounds,
the impossible lengths to which your devotion flows.
Sadly, this fortune was an addiction I could not appreciate
until I was in full withdrawal.

It used to be that every morning we woke to a curious fact--
that we were still together, thrilled to grasp desperately
at each other with our naked limbs and perhaps
seeking no other greater purpose.
Together we are a spectacle of the best things in life
and we can fuel each other to great heights.

Now, without your grace to guide me,
I have descended and walk shallow circles awake.
The gravedigger looks up from her post
and wishes she could point me in the right direction.

Every Great Journey...

Source

I don't know where to begin sometimes.
The dark air is cold and I can be no warmer
grasping at your ghost. Even as I run,

your smile is something infectious--
an incredible deviance and a last(ing) impression--
and it has placed its stamp on my soul.

I feel blessed to have seen it once.
To witness its passing like a shooting star.
But, I have been spoilt and blessed like no other
and I was allowed to sit close to its source--
a swirling celestial birthing ground of joy,
a truly magnanimous splendor.

The site of it was astonishing and I was shocked
in a way I could not understand.

But, I could dare not touch this--would I ruin it?
Would I burn all what I am to know it?
Would it even burn with me?
Oh, how I long to know that fire and roll
in its wicked joy, uniting our sparks
to be the activation energy for an explosion of life.

The cowardliness in me for once was overwhelming and
somehow I became accustomed to my distance
and the yearning clawing at me from inside--
something I have never hesitated to release before.

It was set free one night when I glanced up with wide eyes
and saw not a light in the sky to guide.
Tearing open my chest, it leapt forward.
Its sad eyes looked around
desperately searching for its goal
and found nothing but my pathetic self.
Looking back at me, its eyes were angry in a way
that could not be stopped.

No, this anger would not be appeased
with anything but her perfection.

And so, without a direction to go,
we set off desperately running.
Somewhere in the distance her fire burns
and all I want is the chance
to lay down my entire life
and to throw myself toward its core.