Monday, July 25, 2011


I am outlined in the memory of your void. I am a cut out of myself, paralleled to a universe I remember on friday evenings as the warm sun sets on the tepid week. the choreography of that intimacy has left me hungry for a touch whose roots grow longer than mine, whose faith is wiser in reflection, and whose commitment grounds me in all of his certainty. I want now to be entangled in love … weaving in and out of my own personal independence, with his, growing in spaces we cannot see and surviving the length of time with love buried under layers of passions whose fire burns the stench of my breath. there used to be demons who would summon me, pretending they could feel, forging their hearts into mine so they could forget their pain. they used to walk the lines of my affection .. crisscrossing between sanity and madness … playing games with my heart, hiding behind the refuge they thought was bliss as they fled their uncertainties hunting after me. their weaknesses no longer have welcomed residency in my heart. my strength is like iron now, grounded so deep that it allows me to love the height of passion. I have danced alone, in sparkling moonlights that would last from january to june. I have tasted love and ache on the same tongue that speaks your name and I know now, with complete certainty, that I do not want … but also do not fear the art of dancing alone in the wakes of a midnight air.

Photo: Charles Russel Loomis

“Woodland Fairies Dancing in the Moonlight”

Wednesday, July 6, 2011


like fingers, our web of maturity stems into the different closets of our past, building upon the insecurities that manifest in our limbs. inside my walls, you echo with brokenness. once again I stand on the sidelines, attuned to the journey we are about to pursue. your smile is hollow. it holds on to the past, disrobing your love into tiny fragments of give and take. I build you up with all that I can, but I fall short in my attempts because I am not her. though she is dust in a memory locked inside your soul, her dirt has been caught in a sandstorm of hurt swirling about your beating heart. you are unaware of its strength. I am awake in its heat.

Photo: http://binford-bellstudio.blogspot.com