[Happy valentine's day! Let's all hope for someone to think fondly of while reading this...]

I’m positive that sunlight fuels
The technology of your smile
And the engines beneath your eyes;
How else could they reflect
So finely the dreams of God?
Every release of your dew drop
Eyelids [like nervous ocean waves]
Is the solstice of my season—
A leap second on the breeze;

Guten tag, bitches! Great title, eh? ;-) How's everyone doing? I'm pretty much snazz in a can right now. Everything's been going really well for a change. So what I'm basically saying is, who's bribing Jesus? :-P

I've started watching "Queer As Folk" lately. Holy Guacamole! Three shows and I'm hooked. It's simply outstanding...good plots + droolworthy men = give me a minute to build a shrine!

My dreams find slumber in your vining arms,
And awaken through your eyes, that dawn gently.
Your musics, musing slowing through the air,
Fly in a clef beyond imagination—
In a heaven which God is yet to build.
You’re an impossible, made possible (made grace).
I’ve found that this belief (a truth) has grown
To live in my thoughts, too. I shine for you.

City roars;
An urban dream comes to life.
Stars below
Outnumber the stars above,
Constellations down the avenue.
Electric creatures howl
At artificial moons;
Aluminum coats shining,
Exhaust escapes as clouded breath.
The steel forest claims life tonight.
A pack of wolves,
Leather fur and metal claws,
Exploding howls and
Vengeful cries suit them well.
They bark an angry tongue,

[Straight crush...I'll go get the kleenex... ='( ]

The way the sun braids galaxies in your hair,
And how your soft construction glows in turn;
The sheepish smiles that float across your face,
Then sing inside your supernova eyes;
The bright impossible burning in your core,
And the possibles that trail your every move—
Your story book reality writes my life.

I want to hear your gospel of moans and amazements,
And feed on the tremolos rebounding in the sounds;
To lose myself in the paradise of your soft unrealities,
While letting my soul blossom in your blind creation.
I need your arms to lace and race about my design,
Structuring in their weave the most beautiful of prisons;
To feel the hurricanes of your holy exhalations,

Man, this week has been so crazyweird. I've been in the strangest moods. I've just been feeling really sad and anti-social. Damn hormones. Who needs em, anyway? Menopausal women, that's who. Harumph!

The constellations in our eyes,
the creases in our palms—
they rhyme and shiver,
like echoes of heaven.
Our curves and lines cradle
each other’s seasons;
laughing as skin does
whenever its smooth and
(I swear) sculpted reality
meets a brother, and has no choice
but to blossom in bronze.
The luminescence of our limbs
among the legends race;
rejoicing like dancing suns,

[Not my best, but hey, you try writing in meter, bucko!]

Their lips crept closer, so they could share
An illegal kiss. They cried;
It wasn’t right for men to touch,
For men to love. They divide.

And seal their fate all over again—
Just magnets made of flesh.
Addicted to their passion’s crime,
They commit their act. Refresh.

“Why do we have to live this way?

Forgive me, my dear, if I cannot read
the alphabet of your eyes;
the widenings and smallerings
of your consonants and vowels;
the blinks of punctuation,
and tears of exclamation.
You see, I am illiterate
in you, but by God am I
inanimate without you.
One day our skin will speak
a language all its own,
and our minds will be lost
in the mysteries of
its strange phonetics;

[Dactylic trimeter, bitches! Awwww, yeah!]

When the night spirals our symmetry
And the stars swallow our history
Leaving us only with passions too
Bright for the night in its raven hue

We’ll leave behind our youth’s mysteries
Claim the fruit of our curves’ harmonies
Heavenly bodies torn from the sky
Our new astronomy birthed in sighs

Galaxies will fear our province bright

[Sorry if I'm hogging all the muses...this stuff is just too darn beautiful not to post!]

It never ceases to
amaze and
slightly craze me;
how your voice’s
fragile thunder
can so change the strange
dimensions of sound.
How many angels ride
those clarion waves?
How many miracles
take refuge in
that hallowed tone?
The numbers must
shame the stars,
my love.
I didn’t know

[I wish I was actually writing this about someone in particular... :-/]

Your beauty falls like rain
Soft and innocent and true
Breathing life into the world

Your beauty falls like rain
Tracing rainbows in its wake
Building temples in the air

Your beauty falls like rain
Only lasting for a while
Nature murders every child

[I bet you can't guess whom this one's about...heh heh...]

Inferno on your lips
Just can’t
Quite r e a c h
Your hemisphere
To e xtin g u ish
That orange symphony
You’re just
(but
not really)))
Too chaos and
Not enough to be
My s(kin)’s
All y
A little
Too I said freedom
God (never
Real
ly liked the
Stuff) d
a
m

Well fuck in a bucket, I feel horrible squared. Fate's given me a big ol' kick in zie balls. My other grandma passed away this week, making the score death: 4, grandparents: 0. So I've been in Chicago for the past two days attending her wake and funeral. That would've been bad enough, but I was [and still am] sick with a nasty biznatch of a cold, to boot.