I figure the tender faces of heaven
Don’t make your heart skip a beat
So divine and in familiar comfort
Familial comfort
Not an outsider with a rabid pulse
Just willingly domesticated
In an ivory domicile

Yet angels walk the streets
And police our beats
With smooth faces and sharp teeth

And at their feet
Ravenous beasts
With animal urges never to cease

They flaunt wings of firm blades
Used to cut themselves as they wish
And slice our knees in their presence
Cold and silent as they lord over
Never bound to the forces that be
A celebrity circle
Not a conclave

Sensory and vanity
Dug deep like a cavity
I look over them as they look past me
In hopes that my pulse will one day
Be mellow and free



Think auburn hair
Dusted with snowflakes
I lie my forarms on her shoulders
And she leans forward to my lips

In the shadow of the bare oak tree
I smell the cinnamon on her neck
As it wafts through the loose knit scarf
Wrapped tight, like my arms around her

With a creak we hear the branches list
And pile heavy snow on our heads
As we both find our ease
I smile comes to her face
As she sees mine still cold and indignant

She kisses my cheek so I can grin
Orange hair topped with whipped cream
Her love straight from the oven
Like warm pumpkin pie


Each night dull and faded
Like favorite clothes
Washed threadbare
And as the mystic moon rises
It too starts to lose it’s shine
As they fade away
Not to black, white, or even grey
I’m left alone with my thoughts
Toys scattered amist the room
Too small for the hands of a man
Yet too beloved in their nostalgia
To throw away
Is there a cure for the dimming night?
There might be
While she might not be beside me
She’s still there
Her touch makes the contrast build
And thoughts of her shine vivid
To paint the dull walls
With dancing shadows
The cure for the dimming night
Is with words of love to another
Or the will for them
Being the last thing on your mind
Like the sweetest drop of nectar
Dripped from a jar
Filled in the sun
And consumed by the moon