Lighthouse's Lament

I

No ivory tower, I hardly stand. Barely soldered

and being beaten by cold waves, I was some

limp lighthouse, seemingly inebriated by sober circumstance.

Now I list, and enumerate my treatises inaccurately:

during deluge, via sundial.

II

But wildest fantasy is so revealed!

Heart once rent made healed, and unsturdy joints repaired

while I miscounted each trial day as respite.

Comfort and warmth renewed the spirit diurnally,

and after light, the tides rocked my foundations so sublimely,

too regularly for seduction, but inciting excitement nonetheless.

If I had seen with night-vision perhaps I'd have recognized

how I deluded my Self. How, safe in Sound, I played fodder

for Halibut and Flounder, Mussel, and Blue Mako preying,

nonchalant. Maybe I was confused by my own smooth-ascending

striped façade, lulled into compliance, as if at a barber's edged appendage.

III

When we stood together, stoic before perfect storms

I had to but rotate, see your lens flash and respond in silent reflection

from across leagues and through pillowy, billowing clouds.

Now the barges drag our carcass from the bed with every dredge,

oblivious, selfish as time and bleeding skin that wont let me scar.

I taste you in the briny solution, corroding me with tear-stuff,

eating of my strength, and indeed well fed. The date impends;

only you and small shoals will duly note the perturbations.

Long chocolate

Truly, long chocolate weeps bittersweet.

tears lapped from crevices I wish id kissed

seemed sugary at first sip, perched, precarious on one lip. When once one

dropped from those great heights,

from this soft ungrazed brim smiling so saucily,

I happened to catch it, though its gravity

compressed my breath

as if I respired under atmospheres.

The depth of oceans splashed in a single palm.

Wet wrinkles received each droplet in Morse code,

and a piece of your soul osmosed into me.

And it spoke, laughing loudly through sobs

fought and choked back, and I nodded,

thought a joke back at that silly white girl's expense,

just to lower your defenses a bit, lessen tension a bit,

if just to lend you a bit of my strength

when it seemed you might need it.

But then beneath the relief I sough to share,

became revealed a piece of me I hadn't seen yet

that that soul-piece in me perceived easily.

Meanwhile, my consciousness was seeing

how best to navigate the spaces we inhabited,

how to maintain a balance of sanity while faculty

demanded intellectual accuracy while verbally

slappin my hat backwards. Then add to that the

inevitable attraction to your capacity to

overthrow my comfortability with a few words,

a smirk, and contagious giggling, which morphed

into snickering at my inability to quit skipping words

and stuttering, or muttering or succumbing to

your invitation to change our relationship.

And what this tongue wouldn't give for a dip

into that place I saw cherries once play,

how it longed to lunge where hips met

and to trace the way each earlobe tasted;

but most to make the words to recreate

the weight of the tears that permeated me,

to make them capable of conveying a message

to your salting ducts: its the bitter that makes the glad

and sad so sweetly separated.

your body is erotic

monumental moments of serene scenes,
subject to summers of seduction.
my fingertips whisper melodies down your spine
while your words trace tickles in my ears.
nibble your lip and i'll melt.
your body is erotic.

jolly-rancher, now-and-later,
sweet, like honeycomb,
i want to taste you,
i dont care who knows it.
your body is erotic.
we gasp, overwhelmed,
your back arches, my toes curl,
inhale, exhale,
rebirth into ecstacy,
your body is erotic.
passion, lust, desire, love,
i need you with every molecule in my body.
hunger for it, then take it,
i'll give you all i have.
your body is erotic.

your cries are the fuel
for a rocked that takes us both high,
beyond words, beyond pleasure, beyond thoughts,
beyond...
the release as we float back down is a glorious descent
into oblivion.
even in exhaustion,
your body is erotic.

This space i've created for myself is now vast,

rolling expanse void and featureless

only marked by the iced remnants of the us that was.

Tattered pennants exclaim the ache

of each pain I caused in their stillness:

carcass of a rose, lone thorn hypothermic;

favorite blanket-- shredded, stiff,

no warmth in its remains;

discarded piece of mind, embossed

with impending twilight's greening-blue, and cold--

Your eyes, greying under tufted brows

like the fading dreams of the fitting sun

that shivers horizontal.

Sense the wind here, washing over skin.

Listen to it whisper as it wanders,

whistle, inciting chill misery, wistful

yet still wicked as witches' wishes.

Twisting and writhing- embittered,

whipping cyclonic about this worn column.

this last sign. Weathered pedestal stands

and sways like a timeless metronome;

I mark the aeons of each moment in the silver

stretch and snap of its sinew.

Jagged crack's spiral ascension provides

hand-holds, fingers grip that leverage, climb,

pull writhing mind in tow, and so ancient mariner

is resurrected with simplest sacrifice:

little gull, little gull up there crossed and confused,

Ive already unstrung the fell bow that I used,

that which projected a bolt of soft empathy, carved

through air, pierced through the plumage and vitally lodged

in your psyche. Blinded by logic my vision was fogged,

my eyes thus withheld how that logic was flawed;

I unburdened a load fit for an albatross

on soft fledgeling wings and ignored how they bruised.

So when I, aided with time, finally came to know

how my best of intentions had shattered you so

I created this place. But it never was was cold

till the absence of happiness rendered it froze.

Relish distance and anger, if you must use them to mend,

and for now ill remember our warmth and pretend.

Organization for the study of the center of things

There on the bed lies the center of things, lay mans warm origins,
shelter for the next generation, holy place and new Jerusalem,
deliverer of princes and the living crib of kings,
it is the incubator of fearless dreams and the lash less lids
whose tears it drinks.

Prelude of the unborn, yet unfilled chasm, chastity's charge;
fertilest flesh bound by skin and spine,
I hold the hips by which I grasp you gently, to pull you
close and lay each amazed cheek on you, feeling your flush,
hearing the rush subcutaneous that could swell with new life,
sensing the sleeping earth of you, prone: a cradle well built,
gilt for a gift, inevitably pleasure, perhaps a seed.

Flattest plains made to grow round by the trimester prepare slow ripening fruits

hidden betwixt hips that widen until my palms o'erspill with them and long fingers
barely wrap around holiest curvatures unparalleled.
Strong thumbs sit abdominally overtop the density of your place,
this space inhabited by the living correspondences of God.

WOMAN, finest music incarnate, oldest magician,
favorite miracle, mate, mother, martyr: Im sorry.
What you are to me is hard to see, there are centuries
of history preventing me at times from being mentally inclined
to reinvent that state of mind. But I been called here today to say
what i know is true, that at the center of you
sits the center of things.

Lover, sweet progenitor I recognize your strengths and struggles,
so I put not one above you. I vow to absorb and be buffer for all your troubles,
and I pray that I dont fuck up lest your worry be redoubled.
I swear to kiss away every tear perched, precarious on a cheekbone,
and should fear brew beneath your creamed coffee surface,
roughening the smoothest textures lips have ever known,
I will dip my tongue to sip at them, drink deep from the cup of your navel
exhuming every bean's black bitter acid and exhale the fumes like greenhouse gasses
with no emissions restricted. When every evil i'm able to fix
has been processed, evicted, we may lay, hands and hips clasped forever.
I will worship with fondness this form perfectly put together.