Abandoning Ghosts

If just for today, my darling, turn your back on them;let's leave the ghosts behind,full circle turn the penance. We'll frolic through the fields,tuck some petals behind our ears;let the coast drown out those distant wails,let our laughter be what we hear. Take my hand, my love;too beautiful is this day!Let's get lost on our deserted … Continue reading Abandoning Ghosts

Gripping Sand

Sometimes we must firmlygrip the sandinstead of merely wishingto be carried to shore. Sometimes it is bestto escape through the windowrather than openeither door. Sometimes when the photo albumhas so many empty pages,it's time coloring the sickness yellowsince it can't fade non-faces. Sometimes in the dark woodinstead of striking tear-soaked matches,we must look up for … Continue reading Gripping Sand

Sea Dance

Barefoot atop the deep waters,white dress and wild tresses flowing,sunken-ship cemetery of the past beneath,I twirl in this present moment.  The sea is mineas my dance floor,and I skim across to my pick of shores;I explore, I vacation, not searching, just jubilationof losingworries and fears,exaltation of the lightnessof the lifting of those stormy years,each moment an eternityto … Continue reading Sea Dance

See Past Shells

You are not broken. We all have our chips,scabs and scars,stories hidden, the search and strivefor perfect,itself a myth; you are perfectas is, each soul a treasure,measured not by appearanceor the illusion of wholeness,for we are equally completewhen love washes over us for no shell is enclosed,though we shrink within, open and in rotation,vulnerable heartssearch … Continue reading See Past Shells

When Our Fingers Brush

When our fingers brushbefore the full entwining of hands,in that lightest touch,I feel the warm sand after drifting since birthin the ocean of life,sometimes afloat beneath the moon,mostly pulled by riptide. When my flesh feels yours,every lighthouse at once finds me;the beacons of light bring home the onedestined to love you eternally. Your hand holding … Continue reading When Our Fingers Brush

Puddle Abyss

Storm whisperer usually,with arms outstretched,welcoming the powerand harnessing it within, sometimes the tempestturns on meand brings to the surfacethings long buried  and distorts my abilitywith the stinging rainto see clearlythrough such blinding pain; it is then that I tend tocollapse in the mirage of the puddle,sinking fathoms deepinto the dark aqua-underworld, forgetting how to breathe,forgetting … Continue reading Puddle Abyss