It’s not an exaggeration

To say

I owe my life to you

In every moment

The bottom

Dropped out of my life

And I free fell

Through space

And time

You

Were that spark

That one word

That one phrase

That hand up

From my darkest days

It was prestidigitation

In so many ways

You are magic

You are fire

You are all things

That I desire

The love

In the world

The answer

To hate

The blank space

We all need

To draw

Our own future

The one

We hide

Behind our eyes

And can only be seen

If one’s senses

Are keen

An extra perception

A spotless reception

I

Have a void

I seek to fill

But I know

The answer

Is not in this pill

This bottle

Or this needle

And that’s only

Because

I know you

I know you

So deeply

You infiltrated

My heart

In such a way

My day

Cannot even start

Until I acknowledge

You

Are my purpose

My reason for being

My light

In the darkness

My one

True

Love

You

Are inspiration

And

There’s nothing

Above

invisible as a whisper

captured on the wind

ephemeral as the rose I pick

to show there is no end

to that which we can never see

of what is not and will not be

its presence like a sweet caress

its absence, broken glass

that cuts and stabs and penetrates

a throbbing, tortured mass

in hand, a comforting embrace

withdrawn, a cold and hostile place

alas, it’s just another word

meaningless and quite absurd

a poof of air, a wisp of smoke

a divinely tragi-comic joke

we’ll fade into the cosmic mist

and just like this, cease to exist.

You know that feeling of connection

Between you and the universe

Like no matter where you go or in what direction

Your fate can’t be reversed

Well I’m thinking about that now

Like somehow

I feel emotion

Like I feel peace

When I see

That one special cosmic being

I feel tingles go down my spine

It’s like momentary bliss inside

A love laced galaxy

Enchanting me

The hope

The lovely splendor of poems dancing on crystal seas

A rope

Tying it to me

By fate bound together

We have found forever

It linger within my soul and mind.

It can't be held but we hold it unwillingly.

It controls the sentences that express our demeanor.

It changes your intention to have a better outcome.

It is low keyed and floats with every stare.

It's called Pain,

And it can dissolve if handled with care.

I had once been bound

Not by rules, nor by tyrannical hand,

But by my own heart.

The bindings were not unwilling.

I was not held against my will,

But bound by my heart with the fetters of passions.

And, those same passions

Found their way onto the pages of my notebooks.

I filled up more than I can remember

With words of you and what you were to me -

My love and my lover,

My passion and the object of the same,

My heart and my soul,

The north star, the morning star,

The dusk and the dawn.

Somewhere along the way,

As I made my way from novice to poet,

I wrote as those who had gone on before,

Those poets ancient, riddled much with rhyme,

Who did create great rules for rhymer's work:

Rhyme for the sound, and metre for the time.

But, as I learned of finest poetry,

I lost my love, my passions, and my heart.

I babbled on in rhymed cacophany,

Forgetting where I found the blessed art.

I wrote to please the rules, to satisfy

The rigid structure of that which is done.

But, now I wish to free myself again

To come again into my poet's home.

So, once again,

I will write not by the structure,

Or rather, by the obstruction

Of men who are long since dead.

For, they had their chance with passion,

But it died with them. But, my passion

Is still alive.

It thrives on the fire

In my soul still kindling,

Though slightly dwindling,

Still barely visible swindling its life

From the cold outside

Which only seeks its end.

Once again,

I will return to my poet's home.

For that home is you,

As it has been. Who else?

Who, more than my flower,

Blooming like Persephone in the spring,

Could make my heart sing

The tune it sings for you?

This day,

This hour,

This moment,

If only for a moment,

I will bare my heart,

Lending its all to this art

So that I might once again be bound.

Bound by freedom.

Bound by my own heart,

By my own passions.

For you are that same heart,

And each bout of that same passion.

And this poem is for you, my love.

So, if I never again am free to write

With all within my soul,

Know this, then, is my heart's last address,

And know that, for the moment,

If only for a moment,

I wrote of all my hopes and desires.

I wrote of all my passionate fires.

I wrote of each thing which brought me a smile,

Of each step I took on each mile

Toward that which I want more than anything else in the world.

Know that I wrote of you, my love.

You give me hope in the darkest times

And when I come close to touch you

I stumble and fall

Farther and farther

And I must admire you from afar

When I think of you

My heart flutters

My stomach in knots

I crave your touch

Your kisses of life

Your beauty entrances me

It filters the darkness that surrounds

And lives within

It shows me what could be

In the vast ocean

You are the reason I keep swimming

Our stars are crossed

But one day,

One day, I pray we could be

Ah, the world we could make

Together, you and me.

The different sounds can send me to the places with no name

Into the wild

Through the woods

Around the mist

Laying in the sun

With a slight breeze

The smell of memories

Good

Bad

Real

Imaginary

The tones end

Voice in the distance

Slide off the ear muffs

"Why is your music so loud?"

my soul may feel empty,

sorrows heavy as fatty cream

but here, in this plate i know

a wholeness for a time

eggs, perfect, yolks just so

geometric arc of corned-

beef

hash,

one hundred fifty degrees of

slabular

pleasure

the salsa, the salsa is

perfect,

a poem on my tongue, it’s warm shadow

still dancing in my mouth

it is true that i asked for

four tortillas de mais,

and only got two.

but one is healthier to be

left

wanting.

I often wonder if you would recognize me now.

Behind my creased face and calloused heart,

would my name still rest on your tongue?

Your face has not changed.

Forever frozen in my mind, it concedes more each visit to your true nature.

Would you envelop me as my memories insist you did then,

a warm lull hung around my small shoulders?

Or would the truth if it bite through,

bones broken long ago sharp once again?

Screams and anger assuming their forgotten posts in my chest.

This vestigial love I keep for you occupies my still moments.

It breathes into me, invites me to reach back through time and be with you again.

And I do reach

I reach every time and still my affection goes unmatched.

It may be my love is misplaced.

But over that, it seems, I have no control.