Gifts of Light

Who knows if the wind can tell time,
If it plans when to surround us with it’s might
And scoop us up into a passionate fury.

Talking while kissing,
Trembling while caressing,
Tonight,
Silence is outrivaled by heat
Fears subdued by need
And the tears that drop because of this
Are not lost
But live on
In what we have created
Because nothing else exists but this

And who can tell us if the light picks what it gives,
Choosing the hue of pale blue
from your ipod screen
to illuminate only our faces,
Making our eyes shine,
in the deepest shades
flickering at one another in playful desire.
Allowing nothing else to exist but this

So take a deep breath
Because nothing else exists but this
Nothing else exists
Nothing else exists
So please take a deep breath

For when the night’s mystery (God’s intended confusion) has ended
The sun will break in through split curtains
Casting rays of light (God’s clarity) in piercing orange across the room
Awaking me, causing you to move,
And we’ll know,
but question still if what has happened was real.

Though the love marks, left deep in skin
Will fade with time
And the morning’s calm and the television’s news
will cease the winds swooning fury

The sun ray's gift
is a beautiful image
(that will live on through every good-morning)
The image
of an exposed and sleeping rose covered in stars of varying size,
A smile of infinite meaning,
And a whisper of love
Telling us that through the morning light
and because of this
So much more can exist

Drinkability

A fresh hello
Said with the enthusiasm of a full days worth of stories behind it

Stories of wondering and wandering through
Elements taken in and exhaled out,
Of talon air untamed by inhabitants of “civil” demeanor
Of the seeds planted by the sun in the skin
unknowingly growing until sweet discovery is found in reflection

Stories, which couldn’t have been told at any.other.time.but now.
to speak in music-
to hear the piano’s jazz
Sing its blue notes that land like raindrops,
Beautiful in their rapid inconsistency,

We share; the jazz plays and plays.
Plays feelings as stable as driftwood afloat
Feelings that shrink and swell with desire

Tapping out notes
that pool into an ocean,
who’s coastline view I can tell is
so darn pleasing for your ear to see
because your expression reflects back at me
brighter than the water reflects back at the sun.

Eccentric jazz played through lips more enticing than you might think
with a voice so boisterous and sweetly singing
those forgotten notes; those unspoken thoughts
that milk through our veins and seep recklessly out our pours.

Through this undefinable melody
We are coerced to know that a tea’s drinkability
Is co-equal to one’s own thinkability/understandability/love(a)bility?

That this search of perfection in tea and in love
could only produce a moment –no longer-
Of strong, piping hot, and well steeped Love and Intellect
Before the feeling, in it's steaming conduction, cools and the taste becomes bitter.

But the jazz so fondly found will play on
(in laughter and in mind)
through night’s silence.