LXXXVII.

you are a sharp blade
i use to fight my demons
and distance really hurts.

i’m a gentle man-
i often remind myself
our roots are planted
similarly
but while your flowers
spread wild and bright
mine just seem to stay
close to the trunk.

i have no glistening jewels
or secret powers to win you
but i’m a gentle man-
fighting these violent thoughts
to keep me company
in your stead.


photography by Razvan Macavei.

The Ante Room, by Rick Amor.
Painter’s Inspiration, by Jacek Malczewski.

LXXXVI.

give her the power
and let the coins fall
into her hand-
it does not matter
whether the fingers
are mine or hers.

just give me her
in all her glory
and let me unwind
her clothes and
touch her smooth skin.

i will weave through her legs
and tangle into her like a knot
and sense the breath on her lips
to be something of a plea.

for when the morning comes
she will be in my arms
both hot and moist from
the tender spoils of love
and it will be her lips
upon my ears
whispering the sweetest
of words unto my dreaming wake.

LXXXV.

when all is said and done
i am the fool, or the lover
to run towards her beckon
and find my home in her heart.

to hold her would be the cure
to this poison i have drunk
and dark is the mind
that does not see her light.

i wish i could smell her here.

LXXXIV.

Diego made moments
and i watched the wind
dance to the song
he nor i could sing.

photograph by Peter Stackpole.
photograph by Antonis Lemonakis. 
LXXXIII.

"bring me the stars,"
she said, and meant every word.