That's what you're really asking me, isn't it?  A pinch of this and a sprinkle of that to comprise the complex blend of human emotions that we call love. Let me see, what would a standard recipe be comprised of?

To start, perhaps a generous glass or two of deep red burgundy for all of the intense emotions that boil beneath the thin, pale pastry dough baked and dried to the consistency of sand and salt, the dry, almost lifeless sense of longing and despair and loss, broken easily into crumbling bits.

But the filling? Ah, that would be full-on cream, thick and smooth and sweet as it hides behind all the others. For that precious and rare commodity, all the emotions that attempt to disguise the sweet taste and bury it deep within the pastry only to have it overflow into and onto everything until it must be licked slowly and with relish and enjoyed to the extreme. For that short, delicious time, almost anything is given and after it ends, almost everything is given to get it back and savor it once more. That flavor, that all-encompassing desire, steams up and swirls around the mind in tendrils of warm aroma

teasing the senses with tastes, touches, and scents of love, that indefinable substance that can take on any form as long as it is pleasurable in the human experience.

We spent that night

Pulling at the moon

So close

To the words of poets past

Singing for the sun

In daring voices

Words all our own

To the whispers of dawn

Too timid to come too soon

We spent that night

Talking about life

And somehow

We changed the world

It smells but it doesn't stink

It runs but it's not my feet

In English it sounds all knowing

But in Spanish it means "I don't know"

It is loud when it is blowing

I just hope mine doesn't grow

A lone Black Woman, skin of brown

Sings a black honeyed lament

of White Mans ships and Sails

Brown Souls on the immeasurable Waters on Immeasurable Plantations

in guilty history. She continues to sing. 

Under the bridge is a view of a city

That ripples in color and time

But sadly no one will ever know

Its unreachable shine

The colors are ruby

They’re emerald and gold

Yet all of its beauty

Will never be told

The city is a reflection

A continuous sheen

A permanent mirage

An ever-rushing stream

From under the bridge

It’s cool and dark

With plenty of time

To plan a lodestar arc

But it’s from under this bridge

You can only see

The city

That’s in front of me

     So the raven reminded responsibly- Caw

   And then echoed like leaves dropping   

  violently- Caw

While answers are stars shooting stingers from space 

As worms wriggle, wrangling wreaths worn in their place 

Allowing for inclement weather, a breath,

Awaiting the moment, cocooning of death-

His beak is a totem of mealworms and manner- Caw

The raven is waving aloft hunger's banner- Caw

Until shiny objects adjourn the worm's plea,

Distracting and hiding, the bird in a tree-

The raven is flitting and sitting alone 

Uncertain of whether or not he is known

Wings flap

Bug trap

Beaten 

Eaten

Sigh

Die 

Pi

We all search for that perfect, enchanting piece; the one we have only ever imagined but told ourselves that somewhere it had to exist…existing solely for you. But each time you gave all of your efforts to finding it, you came up empty-handed or, worst of all, with something that seemed like it, seemed it might fit, something to just settle with because maybe this perfect piece didn't exist. So you'd take what was the closest you'd found and you'd try it on, try it out; force it, even. And it wasn't what you you'd always imagined but you thought, who were you to think what you'd made up in your mind could ever actually exist—hell, if you found it, who's to say it'd some in your size? You tell yourself to stop being selfish and needy and demanding and even if it didn't fit, you decide to get it tailored. Quick stitch and fix. Little do you know, the material couldn't hold—the experienced, old, and wise tailor tells you without shame, "sweetheart, not everything can be tailored, not everything can fit and certainly nothing can be forced to. Sweetheart, you'll find what you're looking for if you'd just stop looking." Then out of what seems like nowhere when you weren't looking, weren't searching, perhaps even neglected the thought of what you'd so desperately rummaged throughout your entire life for, you find it. And it fucking shines. It grabs you as soon as you see it. It asks what took so long and someway, somehow, you've never fit into anything better. That's how loves finds you, that's what love is: serendipity at its truest.

The land of

Forgotten time.

The world of

Memories 

Left unplayed.

What a place.

What a horrible,

Beautiful place.

I knew my day would come.

But as I watched the flames flicking closer, I wished it hadn't come so soon. So much I had left undone. So many things unsaid. But the heat grew, and the smokey atmosphere thickened to almost blackness. I was choking, coughing. At last, I squeezed my eyes shut to the pain. Pain that almost made me wish I had made a different reply to them. I quickly regretted that thought. "I'm coming, Jesus. I'm coming home," I said as the flames burned my eyes, my skin, and the stake my hands were tied to. I had stood on my beliefs, against the Church, and I would receive my reward in full.

Sunlight warms and soothes,

It brightens up a dull day.

But sunlight burns when you get too close,

It blinds on a tiring day.

Sunlight reveals and it covers,

For in sunlight everyone who smiles,

Could be hiding tears or rage.

At least in darkness you know what to expect,

Sunlight is the most beautiful mask,

Hiding truth behind golden rays.