animal halo

i got nothin' to say on the states of affairs that move most men to tears and tearing down other men
i got nothin' to say about bright balmy days backed by boldfaced lies and nuclear sunrises
i got nothin' to spit about the clits of mad bitches who bring baldness to the bedroom because beauty ain't enough

but the full moon is risin' and the serpent inside is climbin' these stairs

see, simple silence arouses violence in bitemarks and bruises left in lust on a lover's shoulder

and moments of meditation bring clarity and penetration of the futball diamond maya of blood soaked poor designers

short years and long pauses pregnant with meaning and luscious possibility punctuate the perforations of my soul-searching neo-frontal cortex

and still you sit there, slack-jawed and yawnin' while i go on and on in loquacious masturbatory bliss.

let me make this simple. clear. pin-pointed.

i like loving you and i dig this existence.
you can tear it down, seek salvation through tribulation and rapture
long for better days or a lord to come and capture you
or burn it to the ground, wiping our kind from the face of this rock
and still i'll find a sweet spot and dance in it.
you can too. and you, and you...
and if we all did just that, if we went ahead and ate the fat and didn't feel guilty... just gluttonous for experience, then maybe, just maybe all this shit would go away.
but then we'd be left looking for contrast, the black to our white, the fertilizer for our roses...
so no, i don't want you to blot out my darkness,
to blow sunshine up my ass,
i just want to sit here and appreciate the soft, subtle lines of your muscles twitching under your skin, barely hidden by that silky shawl you donned while dancing in the burn-your-feet sweetsand of 10am.
i just want to smell the animal that comes through your pores when you forget or ignore to wear your bitter-blockers.
i'm just breathin' this in,
the grace AND the sin,
and givin' thanks that i've awakened
to feel pain again.
and when my number's up, i'll die,
grateful for all i've been given
in the short moments that i've lived.

i've got nothing to say...except, "PLAY."

aliveness

passion pursues me in a plumeria scented purple skirt and golden skinned sun kissed nipples.

satin folds find my fingertips and cinnamon clove musky mayhem messes with my cerebellum, simple serendipity settling the fire inside.

morning kisses at the back of my heart with the warm winds rattling my windows, white-walled brilliance bringing me back to heavy-lidded harmony with the world around me.

sweat beads and fills the sheets.

the glue of the universe churned in a hotpot, sloshing over to stain the container and slip into the bricks...a volcano erupts, a peace treaty signed, a planet implodes, the stars align, the heavens erupt in uproarious applause as the creator cracks a devilish grin.

Enfuego

"The way of love is not a subtle argument.
The door here is devastation.
Birds make great skycircles of their freedom.
How do they do it? They fall,
And in falling they're given wings." ~Rumi

I'm a lover. It's my nature, it's what I do. I fall hard, fast and DEEP, and all to often, it's a blissfully painful experience.

I awoke this morning with a pain in my shoulder and the memory of a recent lover playing in my brain. Immediately I checked my blackberry to see if she'd contacted me via fb, gmail or good ol' fashioned text message. She had, but the deeper aspects of conversations were left untouched. She played on the surface, keeping a foot in the door, but no more...

The steel turns.

On the other side of my dome dances another recent love who wants, perhaps, too much. She pulls for my affection in manners all too familiar, and I watch the love that engulfs her bring out the best of her beauty in manic expressions of poetic brilliance. Psychotic obsession leads to some of the best art mankind has ever known. Whether that obsession is a fire for God, a die-hard world-worn quest, or the all-consuming love of another human, it doesn't matter. It's the spark within that does the trick...but I'd be damned if I called it comfortable for anyone.

Conventional wisdom dictates that I shouldn't care. My primary focus is and should be my mission, my purpose, the work at hand...but still this soft heart of mine beats pink and vibrant, and is easily aroused by those with whom I choose to open. History shows that I'm willing to give it all, gamble everything and torch the ships in the name of love, branding me with a string of names too long to claim...terms of endearment and bile-ridden insults...all stick and none of 'em hold, just like life.

Yeah, I shouldn't care, but I do. This fuels me. Towards what, I'm not sure, but it feels like aliveness, and that can't be a bad thing. So many days I've spent in comfortable numbness, quietly longing for the flames of life to lick my skin and make me feel again. Here I am, in the fire...wanting what's just beyond my reach.
Stretching.
Growing.
Living this Love.

God help us all.