Two

Just us

Lingering there

Kissing long

Cold air

Warm breath

Perfect delight

Bright hope

Hearts syncopated

Skin trembling

Love flaring

Eyes answering

Being home

In soul

With you

Fox and Dove

Lonely, lonely on a hillside

He spies her, looking inside

Her menagerie bleakly displayed

Each a drop of love arrayed

He attempts to steal her fox

Tidy and pretty all in a box

Dove takes flight in lost abandon

Finding fire again to land on

Blood rides now, moon to sky

Seeking things she can't eye

Brief in moment and lashed in love

She parts red lips and consumes the dove

Monument

I'm carving stone.

Nails clawing small flakes away.

Blood acts as water to erode little canyons, cutting paths to the base.

I cling with all tenacity and hope.

My face stretched, leathery and taunt against all smiles.

I've been crafting since the son was set free into the wind, maybe before.

A monument.

Devoid of real form but esteemed.

Pitied.

Pitted.

Decided.

Using my own bones to chisel relief.

My teeth make ivory thrones to the small gods.

My hair billows, white clouds shrouding eyes not imagined.

Slowly the form is unnoticed.

Storms ebb in again.

Still. I. Cling.

It's throbbing.

Vibrant in the blood.

Solid in a sea of rich black mud.

When I'm done, put it at the base of humanity.

Like a inside out pyramid.

A tomb to a fustian raven.

What Truth

Some dangerous moment hanging just there ahead of me.

Tragic and cunningly gorgeous.

All death defying, really simple melancholy.

Poetry. Poet. Writer in the trees.

I won't slip past it like before.

Deepening my steps to a tempo slow, methodical.

The sun arcing behind the storms glinting through openings like keyholes to forgotten rooms I can no longer enter.

I will slip in key when I find it but it's lost.

Nothing simpler in motion than the whole fucking universe outside of me.