Have you looked to the moon recently?

The clouds above my head

are the same ones surging over you,

lying in your bed.

It is the very same moon

burning bright in my window-sky

that you and I see,

as far away we may be.

We bunched together

then drifted apart

in the way of clouds, buffeted on the wind,

strung along.

Droplets upon droplets form until clouds are born,

deepening, darkening, spilling over until the sun

burns through, dissipating dark.

Can love be my sun and sizzle away the dark?

Or will time evaporate the film clinging between us?

The moon is always there,

even when it shines for someone else,

glowing even when hidden by the clouds.

I only need to look up,

knowing you have too.

Flesh, in all its glory

Live, love, laugh.

Three things,

 such a simple recipe for everything in life

when said aloud,

dictated or preached.

We practice them, every single day

or at least you and I,

above the ground.

Tell me, what makes you alive?

What monitor screams

THIS ONES LIVING?

Your heart does,

when it's pounding

when it's aching

when it's light

and even in fright.

What else does your heart do?

It loves, of course.

What is love?

Love is when your brain

is spelling out

I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E

and your heart is

frantically scribbling

Y-E-S.

Love is when your heart pounds

after seeing the same smile

fifteen years in a row.

Love is being able to laugh

at yourself.

What is laughter?

Laughter is

the cheapest,

most intoxicating

(addicting, even)

substance we’ve ever invented.

Nothing hurts your

stomach, cheeks,

eyes or sides

nor heals and mends

souls and friendships

relationships and moments

quite like

laughter.

Wilt

My secrets are sticking to me,

bogging me down

left right and center,

sending me askew.

Little bricks stuck to my skin,

pulling me off-center.

No physical cleanse can remove this adhesive,

will truth set freedom loose,

or are these words going to be my noose?

When do staggering steps become cohesive?

When the steps become strides,

when without guilt,

you start feeling pride.

On truth this foundation must be built,

because I will not let this flower wilt.

Achilles Heel

I've got a whole lot of words to say

ready and waiting

but they're not pretty, or packaged,

they are crudely lumped up

an awkward jumble

stuck in my throat

stuck in my head

stuck to my pen and not

quite making it to paper

I've spoken of the world to you

of its wonders, its terrors,

even its disgust,

all at length

all at ease

but this?

This is the peanut butter gluing my tongue;

my achilles heel is the very muscle I tenderly tone?

My very words?

Whether it be

you
or the words

I am afraid of, I'm not sure.

Either way,
I'm still left with telling you something you already know.

Refills are free

I have bled out

every last injustice you left me the deed to,

I have sobbed out

every last cruel word

you imprinted on my memory,

and I have shed every last scab you gifted me.

My skin is shiny and new,

pink with scar tissue,

thick from you.

By the time I am done,

I will have opened myself up and poured you out,

and I will wait out these hollow times

until I have filled myself up again,

back to the brim,

until I overflow,

until all these things are joys instead of sorrow.

(Still) Awake

Part II

(Still)

Awake.

as the sun seeps in.

Peeking. Prying.

Tendrils that seem weak,

a substance not completely there

grow stronger, thicker.

It took seemingly moments

for the darkest blue-black stain

to fade, melt down

to a translucent blue.

Routine transition

has made me uneasy.

Have I created a head start for the day,

Or am I very, very behind?

Awake

I’ve been up all night again

so my mind has yet to sleep

as the sun is peeking in;

Pale, weak tendrils growing thicker,

stronger by the minute, hour

seeping in like ink,

a substance not completely there.

The morning hours seem utopian

in their transition --

In what seemed like moments the

blackest dark melted

liquefied and lightened,

and lost all its opacity.

Shedding its coat, the sky

remaining undecided

on its final hue

clocks in another completed routine.

Within the infinite chase

of sun and moon

we find shadows of humanity;

Light follows dark

ever and always

in equal measure.