In memory of a mentor
A cigar in one hand
a good book in the other.
A mysterious confidence
-a teleological aspiration of my youth-
To which only cultivated
words of wisdom,
only existential pillars of conviction,
could coat a mortal heart thereof.
Whose work gave immanence
to the eternal romance
of a thousand yesteryears,
the silk fabric of history,
the rarely confronted
fastenings of philosophy.
What a mental universe
has given mine
could not erode
even with the unwavering winds
of time.
Hazel-Rainbow
What a beautiful design.
God must have taken to the stars
to create you
for I am wild with wonder.
You could not have come from this earth.
There is not a flower as fine
nor a sunset as sweet
neither any other creature
so carefully crafted.
His beauty belonging
to his tender taste,
his carmine kiss,
his cinnamon-sugared hair,
his strawberry freckles,
and his hazel-rainbow eyed stare
Honesty
No one will know you
nor could learn
how to touch you softer,
gentler,
nor more intimately
than the cooling breeze
of a summer storm
sent with honesty
from the sea.
No lover could keep you longer,
could love you
more relentlessly
than the long-craved for
climatic summer heat.
The young bronze skin of your body, glistening with glass beads of perspiration from an active afternoon, is the guardian of your intricacy, an ornate temple. Your sacred sentience is enshrined here.
It is when the most inner-ness
of your universe
is drawn to all that is other,
when the godliness
of your existence awakens
that your being
is just as honest,
just as relentless
as the love of our beautiful mother
in the climax of the summer.
Discovery
I want to be someone,
you have delightful daydreams about:
your lovely mind
drifting in and out,
carrying me away.
I want to be someone
you catch yourself craving
in the climax of the night,
clad in nothing
but the moonlight.
I want to be someone,
the underwater crystal caves
of your hot desire
produces diamonds for,
unwilling ever
to resurface to the shore.
I want to be someone,
who the pursuit of,
is a daily contemplation:
your lovely mind
composing our very own story of creation.
Am I the risk worth taking?
We will worship each other,
enshrined forever,
in the still of the heat
of the summer.
We will swallow the universe,
tripping on stardust,
entirely,
completely,
immersed.
I will bite your neck
and you will bite mine.
We will bleed young blood,
all the while
high
on the infinitude of time.
Falling is always the risk
and you and I
are falling from the earth
-through a stratosphere clear of clouds-
contemplating
the worth.
Peaches ’n Cream
Full, succulent.
A consistency
erotically compatible
with the flesh of my tongue.
An organ and its object.
Preoccupied with the sugar
of its juice.
Patient swallowing.
While water collects in tears
on me and mine
and these connections
I placed a metaphor
full and succulent.
An agency
erotically compatible
with the ambitions
of the flesh of my tongue.