untitled.

under the setting sun, we
shared our thoughts and memories
you kissed me until i
drew a breath and began to cry
for the things that i had seen, they
broke my heart and took my breath away
until you came and kissed me free
and breathed meaning into me.

imperfection.

Imperfection might be the reflection of

Scintillating smooth ripples of butterflies

Melting warm on my tongue

Hot bullets shooting outward like a raging fire against

The roof of my mouth on every pressured breath

Maybe crying slippery crystal tears that fall, tinkling like

Small silver bells carried, jostling, in a quart berry basket

Maybe laughing wide because of the tricks yet to be played

Capers gone unnoticed amongst a fury of suspicion

Selling an unsuspecting hen a lottery ticket

...Faking an utterly perfect egg

...Advising a captured balloon to freedom

...Pretending that the tail isn't mine

...What tail?

Maybe rolling over sleepily on a bleary winter morning

Shrinking to the size of a pea wrapped in a cozy pod of down

Drowning in an intense apathy for fiercely brushing

My tooth with a thrice-sharpened axe of ancient toothbrush fame

Maybe dreading the future keeps me snuggled and afraid

Of the weary children slaving on Saturdays trapped

Beneath a hot, bright, noisily shining Sun that somehow

Is a little farther than over there

. ..A little longer than forever and a day

...A little faster than the raging wind

...A little more perfect than nothing

...And everything -

Is hanging in anticipation of the rain crashing down

Maybe sloshing against the wet and heavy air

Washing clean the scratchy thoughts and dust collections

Of imperfections from my hair

shiver.

i am disappointed, more than i can say
i'm trying to explain, but words are getting in the way
i am sadder than i have ever been, today -
stumbling, shivering, down memory lane..
where the words are hollow and the colors grey,
where the laughter is missing and in its place
is this silence that we have made
a stillness in which my heart silently breaks
with the knowledge that there can be no escape
from who we become and what we create.

you raise me up to more than i can be...

when i am down, and oh, my soul so weary

when troubles come, and my heart burdened be

then i am still and wait here in the silence

until you come and sit a while with me...

i miss you, achacha.

the memory of you makes me stronger. 

love, always.