I see you through my transparent fingers

     my veins entwined like roots into your soul

     my rib cage beating as it catches your heart

     our legs so close that four become but two

     melting like hot butter into our existence

Opening to you like petals of a swollen rose

      moisture of dew enhancing our passion

     as we climb to amber moonlit crescent

     of our tumultuous staircase of stars

Extinguished and burned by the very heat

     that brought us together for a while

     but now there remain only ashes, evidence

     that we flamed and sparked and blew out.

April showers bring May flowers: at least, that’s what my psychiatrist used to tell me. He was referring to the fact that if I put in the time and the effort to get well and took my meds, I would, most likely, be able to flourish in my world. But, how the hell did he have any idea what my world was like! My world had major roadblocks of voices and noises and highs and lows. I always sensed that I was on an ear-splitting roller coaster than never stopped, just climbed to the top and then plunged to the bottom. My life rained all the time and there were never any flowers.

But then, I began to hear the voices encouraging me to go ahead and plant the damn flowers since my life was all washed up any way. Soon, I was planting bulbs and seeds and whole plants from the nursery, digging deeply into the soil with my bare hands. It felt exhilarating to let the dirt sift through my fingers as I dug a huge hole, never stopping, although it was way too big for the plants I had bought. I couldn’t stop because I felt I was having a breakthrough as I dredged the refuse from my life in little gobs and bits. I looked down at my transparent hands in amazement as they bled into the rich earth, exorcising my sins and horrendous thoughts.

I closed my eyes in rhapsody as I realized that, although the flowers did not fit, I could fill the hole with my problems, cover them up completely and leave the demons there to fester and suffocate. “And that, officer, is why I had to murder my psychiatrist!”

The cerulean sky perches

on ivory cushioned pillows,

white dumplings reflected

in still azure waters.

Pale yellow sun

spider webs her face,

drying the dew

on soft upper lip.

Cinnamon sands

filter aimlessly

through fingers,

marking life

in hourglass

of time.

Wisps of wind

sooth her

like tiny puffs

of marshmallows.

‘Might have been’

life solidifies

into darkness

as she cuts

the rope

between

insanity and genius.

Life breathes

its finality

as it plunges

to infinity.

And she rests,

in earthen bed

in peace at last.

Answer me this -

why did love

pass us by

and can you live

with your shadows?

Wind whistles

haunting answers

as thirsty roots

thrust deeply.

Dark moments

hide nothingness

as love remnants

stalk at our heels,

whispering through

closed windows.

Howling wolves

prance in hunger

a part

of life’s discrepancies

of both

miracle and curse.

Close your eyes,

seek your answer,

floating fleetingly

in belly of

your breezes.

Lulling you to slumber

a repetitive rhythm

cooling your toes

in sunset tinges.

Hold your breath

to explore my depth.

When I lose my temper

walk away from me

until I wrap you

in harmony.

I’ll burnish your skin

and raise your heat,

leave your soul refreshed

without missing a beat.

Embracing you at dawn,

I’ll show you passion

again and again.

I’ll shift your emotions

and stir you in squalls,

I’ll toss you about

but you’ll rise

to the surface.

I’ll be there for you

I’m not going anywhere,

your’re deep within

my loving womb

as I give birth

to ebbing peace.

Dull sounds of silence

breed its seeds

of apathy, caught

in downpour

of smog, veiling

absence of light,

weeping echoes

left behind,

hardened clay

without center,

dead trek

to nowhere,

hunting for hope.

Awe extinguished

as sun beats down.

I wanted to tell you how sorry I was

But I couldn't

I couldn't apologize because I knew you would forgive me

And I knew that I didn't deserve that

When she left, she left in a hurry

She forgot her little, gold bottle of perfume

I took it to the post office

and I addressed the package to her

I'm not sure why but, I had to do it

The idea of her not smelling the way she always had when we were happy

It broke my heart

He made her feel simultaneously over-caffeinated and under-fed.

He made her heart race and her hands shake, he made her blood feel electric.

Her eyes couldn't focus and every word he said echoed and echoed in her head.

She was starving to feel his skin under her fingertips and listen to his breathing as he slept.

She felt empty and all she needed was everything that he was.

Eventually, she would realize that loving him was more full of pain than pleasure.

By then, it would be too late.