Straight from my lips

My love is selfish

My love hates you too

On days like this it takes the

form of a nebulous cloud 

And thunders on about eternity 

While sprinkling throughout 

long evenings of loss, a sense

of having been home, once.

My love is pretty, ugly, angry

Sweet notes of seperation 

mingle with your sweat all of a sudden; 

and then torrents of 

unconsummated lifetimes flow

Your blood in my cells, 

your breath in my silent womb 

My love is a strain 

of vermillion on your hand

Straight from my lips 

and who knows from 

what pushes and pulls

That the forlorn moon has

cast upon those timely tides.

Languid, lustrous, gorgeous moon,

Forever a mirror to another’s 

scarred light

Searching star-strewn streets, 

For a tiny black hole that will hold

All of it’s lies, tears and its entire mouth 

Baby Universe

Perfect clouds mingle and shoot into space 

With a precision that time never granted 

Our tiny, unlived past, not aware

Of a parallel world in which clouds

Are but white puffs of happiness

With each day, we shed the dead life

Of an yesterday and yet something 

Lived on from two childhoods

Moments of loneliness molding

Whole lifetimes, it seems bereft 

Of the resurrection of death 

And yet, here and now when I died 

In your arms again, my birth 

Is enshrined in that sacred space 

Where time wraps around itself and 

Around every regret, each loss and 

Spirals into a wormhole 

of an altogether 

new baby universe

my friend, farewell.