Midnight Street Shadows.

Sometimes, after midnight
when I walk down
streets paved with houses
that hold their shadows close,

Splintered Moonbeams.

From a fallow corner within
the inner self
of this outer shell,

We Could Be Lovers.

We could be lovers,
said the rain as she fell into the ground,

We Set the Sea on Fire.

We knew how to set the sea on fire,

so we did.

The Damage.

The damage occurred before you,

in places love ravaged my insides bloody,

with her claws and hunting knives pared

to a point that hungrily shred me to pieces,

making it  hard to remember

that I could be broken,

and somehow still feel whole.

Hope's Voice.

Hope told her story
around a warm fire
that circled a thousand moonlit skies with it's flames,
and I leaned in towards her,
transfixed
by the tender simplicity
of her voice.

Grafitti Dreams .

We liked to dwell 

inside

the taste of our broken down grafitti dreams-

dynamically converged,

infinitely tearing apart at the seams.

On the Inside.

What do you look like,
on the inside?

The Damaged Parts.

Can you bring warmth to the damaged parts?

Will you cradle tenderly the pieces

that are rabidly torn and blindly broken apart?

Make Believe.

I could take you down the rusty curve and bend,
we could make believe

Art.

Sometimes I forget that you are art,

other times I forget that I am art,

Cedar Wood Nights.

I've spent a lot of time making love to the elements

with the naked gaze of my eyes,

staring into fires tangled jungle 

Sometimes Dark is the Only Colour You Can See At Night.

Searching for an answer
in the midst of a blackout
on a sweltering summer night,
I felt
like if I could just wrap my hands around it
and feel it suffocate
then maybe the question would detach itself from me-
fall away, softly
decay.