Rest your head upon my chest,
where I shall keep your burning form,
warm and cherished, forever always,
until at last, your heart stops beating,
from here, 'til the end, all I can ask,
is for your love, never receding.
I'll never pass your pleasant kiss,
or ask for another to hold like this.
You are my only sight and sound,
and until we fade, my only touch.
Your skin I'll seek when lost, to be found,
if you allow my desperate clutch.
I'll catch your body unto mine.
Sweet love, you'll soon cradle me blind.
As sickness scourges; disease designs,
I'll let my soul and yours resign -
to each others keeping,
to each others mind,
forever, and always, 'til the end of time.
​
To
the
One
I'll
Love
What
is
Us?
Evil is beautiful, as beauty is
goodness;
everything that is alive or inanimate is creation.
All to mix and boil, to call itself existence.
In this reality, we find universal
elation.
What
is
Us?
Streaming Dreams
Results of Their Creations
Little girl goes about her day,
washes hands in man-made stream,
mankind breaking way through city vendors,
money and food, baked breads, sliced meat,
meeting morning and greeting,
waving goodbye once face-to-face ends
to stand face-to-face with sunlight,
agleam in her vision, touching pupils,
fresh from school, a frequent routine,
smelling clay and salt and smoke and wet and green and life and sweat,
tasting dirt and salt and dust and water and vegetation and bugs and lips,
feeling warm and hot, and the ground begins to rock;
it rumbles lowly, ominous as the shadows in the corners,
puffing fumes from gaping jaws after, during, storm, strange weather.
Little girl's day stops fast in time,
on Pompeii, life flesh carbonized.
​
​