Tuesday, September 30, 2014

two cigarettes and every minute of eternity

the first minute felt achingly protocol -
silence implored
by the pure weight 
of words such as hers.  

i lit a cigarette hoping, that 
by the time of my exhale 
i might have formed a response 
bright enough to spark pardon 
into her tone,

yet something in my smoke lungs 
begged another drag - 
after all, 
no woman i could love,
would
cheapen her words 
to the worth of  
solely my response. 

one thing she taught me - 
no woman in the world 
wants anything in the world 
but to be listened to -  
and heard, 
the kind of heard that begs silence. 

the second felt justified, 
as if the first had been
the learning curve; 
time but to assemble - 
our past sins approaching 
and now face them, 
ready and patiently. 

i was apologetic 
that's a fact, 
yet even the guilty - 
comprehend mercy 
deep inside themselves 
wanting 
there to be 
something she sees - 
worth letting up for air. 

the third felt like subtle affirmation, 
like a long stop and dinner, 
then the climbing back into the truck 
for the next leg of the road. 
we were poised to brave the on and on.  
(there is a dark side of a full moon 
a danger in - 
even the sunlight; 
but there is joy in forward - 
toward the direction of what our hearts want, 
even, on the days that we don't make it there) 

i lit another cigarette, we 
were echoing each other's breathing 
full gasps of life - 
in and out 
like westbound transcontinental-locomotives 
nearly through the desert, 
nearly home.

the fourth felt like healing 
the fifth and sixth like resurrection - 
yet something in my smoke lungs begged another drag, 
after all, 
the only woman i could love, 
gave me two cigarettes
and every minute of eternity
to truly hear her, and 
in so doing 
form the only response  
worth such a beautiful voice. 

Thursday, September 25, 2014

how infinitely hers, i am

in a field of lovelies
she is loveliest;
like all the pretty flowers 
to the one i gathered; like 
all the pretty flowers 
to the one i gave her, 
to the one she held on to

in a sky of lovers 
she is only.
spring, fall;
my fears were dressed for winter, 
she undid them like a warm summer 
never have i been so bare 
and never have i felt so pure  

when i see stars 
their staggered entrance into night 
like dim lit hallways, 
then brilliance; 
it is as though, 
they 
had hoped to remind me
how infinitely here and 
how infinitely heavens'
they are

when stars see me 
my crescendoing reflection in the mirrors of her stare, 

hope they are reminded 
how infinitely here and 
how infinitely hers, 
i am 

Saturday, September 6, 2014

if you handed me the world

when she hands me the world 
i ask for it black, 
just cool enough to sip 
from a red tin cup
beneath a late afternoon sundown. 
when i hand she the world, 
she asks for it stirred
with sugar and soy milk
over ice cubes, 
beside me and that same sundown.

-----

one could spend his entire life 
chasing after places to see and be; 
so, she made me swear we’d spend our days
making the places we already were 
something worth seeing and being; 

(and someday,
the adventurers 
searching for the seven wonders of my 26th summer,
will find their guidebooks dead-ending  
beneath the hummingbirds of the los angeles river,
at the private delray beaches belonging to the owners of half-built condominiums, 
along the 2 am side-streets of southern boulevard,
beside the courtyard of a north palm beach panera bread, 
on the benches of a cafe and used bookstore in jacksonville, 
under the canopy of a brewery within the industrial district of suburbia orlando, 
in a hammock).  

and on the days you wonder,
how you'll ever cross 
from the failure you find yourself today 
to the person you've always hoped you might become; 
where the skies 
exchange there faded grays 
for the brightness you remember on those nights you used you dream;
she enters,  
like a bridge you never knew was constructible
like electric light, 
like flight, 
like impossible unfolding before your eyes, 
with body, hands, 
and a face like the winter constellations, 
and in an instant, 
the world is at your fingertips, 
like a story that wouldn’t let you blink even if you tried;
like paper airplanes 
and the speechless on your tongue, 
like the brightness in her lips, 
as they form i love you 
at last;
my world,   
is where she is, 
those sunsets -
really are the most colorful; 
those drives 
really are worth the miles; 
those moons, those 
cups of coffee, 
really are full, 
with the kinda full worth drinking fully;
and i am hers to the dregs.  

-----

if you handed me the world, 
it'd be five fragile fingers 
and her head on my shoulder, 
north los angeles
sundown.  

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

almost somethings

to make, 
something -
always takes longer and harder than you could ever plan for. 
to finish, something -
always depends on whether you truly want it more 
than the next something, and more 
than the last; 
because heaven knows 
my head 
is full of dreams;
and lord knows even better, 
my past
is written in almost somethings.