Those fingers are not like my family’s fingers.
And it’s okay, we even voice different,
never mind the language
Small trivial
air-weight vessels.
But it’s interesting, watching…
Subjectively perceiving a blended image
The most real of dreams
Ones not fast forgotten
And how this affects everything:
It’s in the milk
it’s in the butter,
now
we eat it with strawberries.
For ever,
now. It is forever-now.
My eyes,
can be seen
watching, as with fallible grace,

opium
harsh bitterness hangs in the air
like this moon
shorn of cloud beyond
our reflections in the old poured glass

panes of pangs
secrets

delvish ruin
upon our arms
we drape our wounds
our aches
like gleaming charmes
and rush to greet
a calamity we become
sinking fast
the heat of our hunger
dripping like morning
the husks of a flowers
once beautiful
soft newness

petals of sighs
drowsy and high

You two

I tell all my good friends
that Ian and Jess
are the lights
the torches
the candles
the flames
and
just say any names
who have reached out
from earthly to heaven domains

to teach me poetic games
which one day,
some day
all poets will frame
in their minds
as do you two

and

I love the way you polish a poet,
innocent of poetic nuances
like you always do
You two

I shall write in mornings glow,
would you walk with me there,
things I need to know.
if the world is the same,
for you as it is for me.

A lovely place for poets to be
They sometimes make me cry.
I have searched for many a day,
To stop those tears in my eyes.
I want to find a trace of your light,
It was not fair you know.

A trail gone cold in my sight
To walk that extra mile.
As I just wanted to be with you,
To see your beautiful smile.
To all that you know
Take care out there.