Forged

My Darling, 

         Sweet Love...

The Identity

 

Who are you, 

When you can no longer dance-

limbs flying free, youth uncracked, able to bare the weight of your soul? 

When your spirit lays shelled up, back broken, can hardly move, and old many beyond your years? 

Are you still you? 

Who are you, 

When you no longer sing like you used to? Voice dry from inhaled abuse, and trauma stored like crutching the smoke

For a lost solace? 

Is your spirit still free? Do the angels still glide within your reach, wings tipped and touching the whole of who you are? 

Who are you, 

When the young surpass you both in beauty and talent, and you look around you...

Nothing but fleeting moments racked up? 

Who are you, 

  When Romance dies? 

Are you still there beneathe

  The withering form, tight and bandaged, sold and still endlessly breathing life into those around you? 

Are you still you? 

Do you die with the youth lost? 

Will you remain? 

Will you dance again? Will you fight? 

Will your voice soar once more much beyond any of your first times?

Do you give up? 

Do you dare to give up, when maybe, 

You are still right at its edge? 

Do you dare try to fly again, when your wings grow back, however mangled? 

Who will you be....

  If you 

Do not, 

But instead and rather, 

Simply remain lost? 

What's more, Dear soul...

What's more... 

Is what will always remain. 

Might you mourn...

and die a little if you need? 

Might you accept the challenge placed at your feet? 

Might you see the vastness beyond what you have done, 

And lean into what you will be? 

Love

 

How many ways do you love me? 

 How many? 

Could you count them, or imagine? 

  Are they days of daydreams beachside?

Are they hours of rolling around in the sheets, 

  Lazy lions atop one another?

Is it there in the quiet moments between us, eyes silent with tell all? 

Do you see me peaking out, doey gaze, 

  Eyes sparkling in your arms of laughter? 

Is it there in the way you put your arms around me, and take me in? My entire essence... a breeze imprinted in your memory, 

And bedtime's long hours, 

And dreams next to touching skins, 

 Hair intermingled in loose fingers, 

    Melodious kisses forged into my love letters 

Against your cheek, perking under my 

Love for you. 

Look into my soul, and do what it is you please...

For I, my sweet love, am all yours, 

Enraptured, pitted, and my heart plucked out and given you. 

Will you do nothing? 

Or will you strike the match and reveal to me which bridges burn? 

Will you tell me, all the ways you love me? 

Or will you show me? 

  for I would like to know. 

Time of Refuge

 

Wheels spinning, sweet somber 

  Retreats of caravans 

In the midnight home. 

 Winds exchange

On the reeds just beyond the porch, 

 and the air is mulchy, the sky lit all abound, 

And the breeze, silk. 

We run barefoot, a dew wet treading up our legs.

A mud and flower dander

 a lightness of the limbs, as though lifted feet high.

We exchange.  I sway, and round and round I go, dress spinning in the damp breath and slippery earth. 

She is green. Under my feet. 

  She is green again. 

Denim jacket leaned against the shambled fence. 

Backs to the earth, and gaze upon the open world.  Studs of light hold our attention, forever, 

As we worship the presence here, enbossomed in chests lying flat, 

And hair getting wet, and itching sheaths of leaves and grassy breeds

And no-nothings 

For here, there is nothing to know.  

Time, space, refuge here together- the stratosphere a balloon of splattered dust

a space where time must stop, but the stars are seen here, 

Within this globe.