Lazuli

Okay I have 6 minutes to write a poem

I’ve been drinking

and truth be told I’m not entirely done.

Unfortunately, 

your distance makes me feel warmer 

as if the way you reciprocate

every other moon

brings more brightness

to the skies claimed 

under your name.

The way you bury yourself

rather than leave me to appreciate

the nuance of air

renders all wandersome thoughts

shovels, built into my wrists

the pulse of me

calling to your subsurface 

frequency.

Erupt

that I might again

say, “hello,

how is your morning 

and, beyond carving

lapis out of clouds,

how might I better

the stride of your soaring?”

Crush

Riddle me with your incomplete sentences.

Crease the last letter
you thought to leave beneath
the mattress
a secret admirer
only found between
changed sheets and
fingers tipped with
daydreams
afternoon interlude,
faded release.

Face me like a heart.
Open and close at the rate
of bus fair handed
to the driver who
sees you run
and stops to
tie your shoes into
a fatherly knot.

Give me the soul of your last sleepless night.
Pour it slowly into my cup
such that I can smell each yawn and
caress every droplet of the words you

only sell to yourself.

I know.
It is worrisome
to let it drum
bit by bit at the bottom of the glass
moments stretched, bare,

uncut grass.

How are you to know
I’m not just another mower
hired to snip at your growth, or
step carelessly on
your most closely held
solar?

I am the breeze.
I want to feel each feather of you
bent, perfect, blessed or pressed thin, overgrown, under rested. Tied and left in backroad gardens, exposed and erased, rewritten in jargon.

The way you fly…
I sing it.

I could write to you
every summer melody and
pardon my reality
the simple rain and drought of green
It will never render me

water,
but dive in–
dream.

Summit Rose(a Rewrite)

Bring me back
to your blue sheets.
Teach me red.

Your collarbone is a roadmap
upon which my fingers could
scout out every landmark
sending the coordinates
to my mouth.

Create a single night
with me.
Let us both collide
maybe
the stillness of your feet
will fall away
at the whispers underneath
your neck.

I
can sing to you
with nothing but my tongue
inciting
harmony
deep within
your stomach
notes strolling casually
up through the throat
greeting your hot breath
as you decide
to allow the refrain
a taste of its own
chorus.

First of course
those legs of yours.
One hand remains free and
bought tickets
to your knee.
Those fingers have been dying to hike
the snow covered summits
leading below
the single rose
where symphonies are strung along
by tongue as well as tone.

Your hips are
begging to be
jailed by palms and tips
as crescent locks and keys.
Suddenly there
isn’t air
it’s pressed from you
the petalcrest blooms
filled
with a new warmth
refreshing like sunlight
rigid as river stone.

Dear,

walk me to your window.
The breeze will cool
the sunset pools
fit to simmer
beneath the tresses
of heavy lashes
as starlit sighs grow dimmer.

Ember eyes,
burn me away
so I might live again
to douse you
with the songs
of “stay”.

Innocent Distance

Tripping over my own indecent socks
I admonish my toes in alpha numeric order
I don’t know which one I stubbed first but

it definitely did not happen

while I was reaching

for the swing set smile

in your eyes.

 
the blatant disturbance
between your shoulders
reeks of lost walk ways.
we drank Gatorade
as a method of supplying
our eyelids with brighter colors
and
being so young
who could know
electrolytes aren’t used
in defibrillators.

Bring me back
to your blue sheets.
Teach me red
and don’t starve,
blink.

My hands used to be
so content with
keyboard racing but
now I can’t seem to regret
holding you captive in my head
wrapping arms around
a frame of the mind’s design
enticing smiles and
feeling the lips turn
against my skin–
red
touched
lips.

Your collarbone is a roadmap
upon which my fingers could
scout out every landmark
sending the coordinates
to my mouth.

Create with me
a single night.
Let us both collide
maybe
the stillness of your feet
will fall away at the
whispers underneath
your neck.

I
can sing to you
with nothing but my tongue
inciting
harmony
deep within
your stomach
notes strolling casually
up through the throat
greeting your hot breath
as you decide
to allow the refrain
a taste of its own
chorus.

First of course
those legs of yours.
hiding behind nets and
cages of silk.
One hand remains free and
bought tickets
to your knee.
Those fingers have
been dying to hike
the snow covered summits
leading to the
single flower
where symphonies can be strung along
by tongue as well as tone.

The hips of you
begging to be
jailed by palms and tips as
locks and keys
suddenly there
isn’t air
it’s pressed from you
your garden blooms
filled
with a new warmth
refreshing like sunlight
rigid as river stone,

you

moan.

The Earth of you
collapses
revealing the core
[as we both rain–
but what is rain
when stripped
of atmosphere?]

Dear,

walk me to your window.
The breeze will cool
the sunset pools
lain bare
between the tresses
of your heavy lashes
and sunburst sighs.

Ember eyes,
burn me away
so I might live again
to douse you
with the songs
of “stay”.

(Poems of Pluto 5) Sol Sighs

Fuck me up, Sun.

Tear away the atmospheres between us

let them fall and crisp into nothing

around our mismatched feet.

 

Destroy me.

Show this simple asteroid how

the single most inspirational star in the sky

moves when the moon is on duty.

 

I will forgo any semblance of release

as long as, just once,

I hear that true sigh of spring’s awakening,

feel that hot breath

summer wishes it could possess.

 

Bite at me–

grip with all your strength at my

$20 sheets as I

teach you what the other planets mean when they say,

“rainfall”.

 

Lay your hips upon mine

teach me the definition of those

convective motions.

 

Let us test how far

the largest source of energy in the solar system

can take us in one night.

 

I know, I know.

The protection I’ve brought isn’t exactly

designed to handle temperatures

anywhere close to 6,000 Kelvin.

Nor is the rest of me.

 

I can only hope

my ears

are the last part of me

to melt.

 

 

(Poems of Pluto 3) I Played Mario with the Sun

I took a picture of the sun

while she wasn’t looking.

I’m sorry.

 

I knew asking would only

brighten the flames

embolden

the teeth.

 

I wanted something to call my own.

Anyone can want the sun;

No one else

gets to play Mario with her.

 

So I captured her,

in this single moment where

my couch was her home

my voice

her touchstone.

 

I wonder how far

Pluto’s voice

carries

in the void between

my couch

and the center of

her chest?