Love,
Do you think the burning stars look on in pity
Of what became of their stardust brethren,
Who aim bombs at each other over disputed words?
Who sacrifice innocence over their idolatry?
Or do you think they see the quieter explosions
Of love,
Like ours?
That make living any existence worth while?
I hope they do,
I hope they see the love and dream of when they too
Are only dust particles in the universe reconstituted into life,
Conjuring that which is love.
Tag: Love
Not Just a Memory
You are beautiful.
I see you in my mind when I can’t touch you,
I ache at the thought of your hands,
Your shoulders,
I am lost in thoughts when I shouldn’t be,
The curve,
The swell of your behind,
I am lost,
The wetness of your mouth,
I am breathless,
The thick firmness of your thighs,
I am captivated by an image I can’t touch,
Wanting so much to feel, taste, kiss the things I see,
But alas,
Were it not just a memory.
For Me
He played a song
For me,
A song he said was mine,
Written surely
For me,
He confessed,
And I saw in his eyes a tenderness,
I had not seen before,
That read of love, and hurt,
and fear,
That said he had before wept tears,
And that those had been for me,
Over me too.
Radical Love (…for the internet)
Today I did a presentation
On radical love,
“A love so extreme it erases boundaries”,
Perhaps that’s what this has always been,
Because the boundaries between us are but marks on a map,
And the oceans flow into one another,
The landmasses are our sailboats,
These are not boundaries dividing us,
And even if there were we’d find a way
To connect,
Thank the stars for the internet
One Last Heartbeat
Cultural heroes pass in untimely death,
And suddenly how close mortality seems to us all,
A stark reminder that mortality is always a heartbeat away,
And despite this knowledge
Only with loss do we bend to knees and pray,
Not for miraculous everlasting life,
But for enough time while it’s ours,
To do all that is needed to be done,
To make right our actions
To let loved ones know
In word and deed that they are loved
and of their value to our personal existence,
And this all takes time,
Takes heartbeats,
-Thump-
There goes another beat,
Now is always the time,
To do what you would,
If you had just one last
Heartbeat.
Missing Home
As much as I find formation,
In the Ivory tower that surrounds me,
There is something missing,
Begging for completion in this equation,
It is a longing for familiar arms and body
For me to embrace,
And the comfort of love in the flesh
Made closer to my being,
It is a need for the very souls that drive me in my seeking,
It is an irony of needing to leave to find what is most needed
Is what was left behind,
I knew this already,
But it is the felt notion that brings this to brightest light,
In missing home.
She of Letters 