Auto-flush is like

an unreliable lover.

When dancing the hurried jig of cathartic need

you hurry quickly through throngs of traffic to relieve

yourself of nature’s plight, your

bloated balloon of a bladder ready

to burst,

And upon finally reaching the porcelain circle

a promise of support (unless it’s been used by many

in a brutal, unforgiving fashion,

then you’re better off standing on your own),

the eternal ring vows to provide a stable, consistent

release for all that you wish to let go,

Yet,

before cheek meets ring and ring meets skin

there is a loud swoosh and instead of solid

matter, you are kissed by unsolicited liquid

of another’s poor decisions.

Or,

if this not be the case,

if you successfully sit, with a moment of relief

then stand, you are accosted by the

fact that there was no release,

what you left has been left

for you to see

But,

there are also times when all goes well

and your confidence in the way

things work between you and

the throne is nothing but

confirmed.

I put words on paper

rough draft, new draft

scratch out, erase

There’s no need.

Everything I want to

say

is in the touch of my

body

found in your eyes

deep

between the physical and the

soul

Your breath is my final copy

My smile, the envelope

I love you

to the letter

Imagine

an echo on pause

Just now reverberating to your ears

A replay found in later years bounced back by

the cave’s hard, tall walls, and hollow holes

filling empty spaces you thought you filled

A shadow of what used to be

an argument, a word, a feeling

born not from current circumstance,

but from events that happened in the past-

A record that begins to skip, missing a beat,

start of a slip, not destruction of the song-

just a misstep, mistake, one that was never

meant to make, and will never happen again

Please let me sing

again

My heart is an open hole,

just waiting to be filled

(insert cliche love wish here

Because predictable rubbish

is better than the uninvited thing

you shoved in me last week)

It hurts.

We tend to complicate things,

make heavy of light: intentions,

vision, plans, expectations, future

Nature,

is where we should look to see;

There's nothing more beautiful in its simplicity

than the wind blowing the grass lightly with its breeze

which in turn may turn the grass’s gaze from the sun’s beams

to the tree’s leaves, but it is of no consequence.

The wind means no harm, and even if its intentions were ill,

the grass happily bends to its will, accepting its fate with grace

because it has no vision, plans or expectations for the future other than

living

breathing

being

Your soft skin

lingers on my lips

fresh kisses

I want to fill

your mouth

with my love

as many words

as a dictionary

streaming

in

and

out

and around,

my head is a swirl

of infatuation

A volcano -

Tectonic phenomena allowing

the earth’s inner soul,

its metaphorical soft spot,

to emerge at the surface,

first felt, then seen

My sleeve -

Where my inside heart beats

its enthusiasm and dies

a

     slow

              death

                        only

to rise again like a phoenix

ready to burn

The thing about

lava and love

is their potential

to destroy

and create

in one breath,

despite their soft

texture and alluring

warm glow