Angel Baby

 Today I find myself missing you. 

The bad, the ugly, the scary, 

Missing the sound of your tiny not so big heartbeat.

Missing your small body that was going to grow so big.

Today, I find the tears are more on the surface 

I find myself still hating how my body failed you.

Your life was small but I can still feel your soul imprints in my heart. 

We talk about the future and how maybe one more try.

I’m not sure I can, I am scared, I’m terrified. 

The boys want a little girl or another little boy.

The what-ifs bounce around my brain, and I am thinking of you again.

I can’t lose another one.

I can’t fall down that abyss, that black hole one more time.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough, I was barely strong enough to lose you and replace you with another.

Today, I am thinking of you and my heart is heavy and hurting.

Today, I’m going through your memory all alone.

Philiophobia

 Your light so dim

I find myself probing and tugging on the tether our souls. Your heartbeat is slow and labored. Your soul feels faint...fading. My soul is pulling, treading water to keep us both afloat.

My body and being refuse to let you drown, 

I cling to your soul remembering the memories that were happy, sad, maddening, and gut wrenching. Our bond grows soft but I refuse to watch your demise....your supernova. 

I wrap you in a fierce embrace, tendrils holding you close. Your breath with mine. Slowly. 

I won’t let go. I can’t let go, even if it kills me

I can’t do that kind of hurt again.

Arcane

 The moon always so full of himself, but when was that ever a bad thing.

Waxing and waning , disappearing for his own selfish reasons, looking to impress no one but himself

or so it seems. 

Moon makes nostalgic company.

Night conversations, where he confides of the grief he feels. He mourns the glory of Sun.

Only stealing bits of rays to experience a kiss, a touch of her light, her fire.

And i tell him of you. How you make my soul feel alive, sharing in each others light.

Supernatural

 working with shadows is messy business

it's slippery

my hands and clothes always come out damp and sticky.

rubber gloves and hazmat suits don't help much, unless you don't

mind a super-glued skin that smells like rotten eggs and chocolate milk.

Without an Umbrella

 He loves moonlight and shooting stars

and thunderstorms

and football games

and so many other things that have life, fire, and soul.

Soul Catchers

 We touched souls

but not in true love kind of way.

A " Oh there you are, I have been looking for you!" kind of way.

Intimate but not by touch or sight.

Our souls gently tugged on the webbing of connections. 

A slight pull sinful, sensual, liberating, and freeing. 

Our beings intertwining in a complex waltz across the stars.

Something foreign and friendly all at the same time. 

Our lives didn't quite fit together in a jigsaw kind of way

but, our souls knew how to dance, our souls knew how to sing

our souls knew how to debate and exchange. Our

souls used to write love songs and rebel manifestos. Our souls communicated

not through human language but through poetry, deep feelings, metaphors, classic books,

rock 'n' roll, recipe cards, and karma sutras. They didn't have to spend a lifetime translating

each others souls.

Contortionist

Souls that tangle and twist are the most beautiful

the ones that are tortured and artistic in their own ways.

Outsiders, rebels, the broken and down trodden, the loners

starving artists, eccentrics, the little bit crazies. 

Most vibrant, complex, connected canvas of soul.

Rebels and Rainbows

 Her soul was a wild one

finding magic in late nights and sunrises.

finding reflection after a night of binge drinking, shots and shots 

of peppery-fire tequila.

folding worries into paper airplanes and cast off love notes.

finding purpose in black morning coffee and chocolate sprinkle cupcakes.

She had the best stories, but girls who drink whiskey and strawberry

margaritas always do.

Primrose

 Let us live as flowers

unafraid of wild

springing up everywhere 

through cracks and open fields

drenched in thunderstorms and sunshine.

Orphic

 Painted leaves blowing as tiny queen stars 

twinkling with every brush of a breeze swelling in waves

first small and barely lapping the branches.

Rippling down to the base of swollen trunks,

sapling bends as a mast of a ship

slowly.

Clear turquoise sky, solid, hurts your eyes while looking too long.

flat, matte.

An arcrylic colored sky, painted across a night time canvas

Smell of rain touched mud, wet grass, musty wood

gasoline, dry pine smoke.

Robin my only companion, tending to a hidden nest 

beneath the balcony rafters. Back and forth, side to side

gathering twigs and sticks.

Buzzing of honeybees pollinating yellow wildflowers.

Primal, insect lovemaking, rubbing bodies between pollen-laced petals.

disappearing playmates into the tall grass.

A little, finding enjoyment in the random scattering

of rocks and pebbles.

Now grimy hands savoring the many textures of wild.

Yellow sun, hot and sweaty, intoxicating thrumming

Ba-boom, ba-boom of the steady heartbeat

laboring under the blistering rays.

Angels of Chaos

 They stole things no one would miss,

small things first

like time, copper pennies, and sleep

Heavenly disguised angels 

but, their wings gave them away

oily, black, and sleek

Chaos makes their tea and cereal the same way

every evening

milk always first

Form of payment for services rendered 

euros, dollars, stirling silver, broken hearts, red lego bricks

and mismatched socks.