This language is mine
Silky lover
willing slave
The only one that has ever done
what I ask it to
command it to
the crucible of creation
exists between my lips and fingertips
If I say I lack the words
to tell you
to tell
I’m a liar.
It’s just if I let them out
they might overwhelm
not sate
they might devastate
you may not ever be the same
or I may not
and I cannot know
whether that’s to the good,
evil being so relative
when hearts speak,
and understanding so tardy.


Neil and I,
we’ve both been looking for
a heart of gold,
a heart that’s bold
to pump red-hot and
as a child’s
to live and love with
unalloyed abandon;
a heart that loves the one that
carries it
that it can love another
a heart that shines brightly,
even at midnight,
and flickers only in its own
not in doubt’s passing shade.