Poetry · Writing

a wanderer through toxic space

and through that space

he sought a moment

a moment where space wasn’t suffocating

and they could breathe;

away from these fumes left from yesterday

the suffering of those before left to rot

to choke the present

and the gift was this moment-

where we let our guard down;

let the space travel past

arms open wide

a space

where existing isn’t a bother

a crime

where existing is a gift

 

Poetry · Writing

personal touch

i see us arguing, a ton

usually about movies or music

and you want to be right

and i want to see you tonight

i love sharing passion-

i see us trying a ton of restaurants

half of them we’ll go back to

will share laughs at the other half

pasta will probably be our favorite

the ravioli is fire-

and i’ll take a ton of pictures;

shot for shot it’s my favorite

the album with pokemon stickers and harley quinn pins

listening to donald glover

 

Poetry · Writing

candid vow

it wasn’t a joke or saying

not a line to pick or a quote to be memorized

nothing annotated or on the back of my hands

it is all here-

with you standing across from me

i know what i’ll see for today tomorrow

and the next tomorrow until i am all out of them

the highlight of my day i’ll make the highlight of my life;

you can know this now

because i’ve known for quite some time

that time was a knock off until you were added;

all candid- just waiting for my life to be stirred

thee unforgettable flavor

Poetry · Writing

father glass

i see you in a whole new light;

a necklace we share

a place for prayer

a love all too rare;

farther than the pedestal you’re on

chariot to the top; blinded by your brawn

time to trace the fortress of glass through my fingers

you crossed into my lane with no warning and no blinkers

but willingly; never a red light hard bites through the night feels right

now, a place for prayer

is not a warrant for inspection

a love all too rare isn’t warranted with suspicion

just with a mission; to make it last

and put a chair next to yours at the top

 

Poetry · Writing

midnight cruise

i am always running

on the treadmill, sitting down, eating breakfast;

the motor never quits, never an oil change or fluid change

check engine light has been removed

and a brick on the gas pedal-

the empty light came on a friday night

a shovel to the brick

a hammer

a pickup truck

but your delicate hands

with ease

found comfort under yellow umbrellas

your hand found mine and not on a steering wheel

stealing nothing instead given

given a chance to have free hands

free from the wheel free from those haunted nights

nights are easier and the darkness drives the other way