more than

i love you more than
the stretch of my arms
or the capacity of a human heart
or even...
the span of an angel's wings
i love you more than
my mind's scope
or my soul's hope
more than the furthest reach
of the longest rope
i love...
more than love can be defined
more than the infinite
space of time
more than a sky's height
or an Alaskan night
more than
and fiercer than
and greater than
a lioness' fight
and even then
its rougher than
but easier than
a kayo on fight night
that is
how...
i love you
the stretch of imagination
and a dream's escalation
the force and pull
of a planetary rotation
with showers of fire
and atmospheric changes
resulting in novas
and supernovas
of super loving explosions
*catching breath*
is a mere display of
how
much
i love you...
you...have...NO...clue
that i love you
more than the shells that hold us
and the experiences
and life
thats taken hold of us
more than the eons
that separate our past lives
more than
all the love stories ever scribed
more than
the heaving cries
of broken hearts
or
stuttering mouths
in awe of art
more than the echoing pains
of a child's birth
more than
the heat contained
at the core of the earth
when i say,
i love you...
know that
its more than
even "I" know...

love notes

you ever hear a song...
drawn to it's title
reaffirmed by it's lyrics
wanting to share it,
but afraid
that if you do...
that one set of ears will think,
it's them to which you dedicate it?...
a musical ode
with perfect words
you could've composed yourself,
as if they'd be wrong..
when they wouldn't be
at all...
i saw a song,
i'd never heard
drawn by it's title
to which mimicked
the exact sentiment
that echoed my heart...
and as i listened,
intently to softly tickled
piano keys
playing back up harmony
to a voice
with delicate vibrato
my heart stilled...
because,
i heard a line,
that seemed like
it was plagiarized
from the story of my heart
and i felt chills...
that this song
i'd never heard,
entitled just for me...
plucking free my feelings
from strings and love
that,
what i want
just may be mine to have...
but,
it's just a song, right?
not possible
that the lyrical arrangement
was arranged for me,
to one day hear
and feel the message
crystal clear...
that in the conception,
of this art
the purpose
was deeply hidden,
to be a "message in a bottle"
set to throttle me
mid-night
mid-cry
mid-bye...
i don't know
i didn't mean
to get deep...
i guess that song...
those lyrics...
just wrote love notes
all over me,
and i just want to
hit repeat

[sigh]

[sigh]
high anxiety sets in,
shoulders tense
head down,
worries up...
my attempts to smooth away
the kinks in my neck,
fall short...
my fingertips
not long enough to
trail my spine's length
i'm in heat
skin overly sensitive
to flashing thoughts
hands cupping,
kneading and needing...
wantonly wanting...
receiving nothing
[sigh]
performing moments
that haven't happened,
reliving the ones
too faded
to satisfy the urgent stirring...
falling in and out of love
with the imagined touches
and the deep thrusts
someone pushing me
over the edge of my ecstasy
past the point i can't see...
[sigh]
it ain't enough...
what is keeping me up
past dawn
has little to do
with the cold side of the bed
and everything to do
with the warmest part of my heart...
i yen for soul mate zen
the center of me
created to be
half of love's pinnacle
is restless...
[sigh]
it's like,
the closer a presence nears...
the louder the "silence" becomes
the tingling,
vibrates highly
almost void of sound
or human exposition
a sign of impending arrival...
it's like,
your spirit's tuning fork
quivers...
[sigh]
he's coming,
and the sensors
located at the base of my spine,
nape of my neck,
center of my cleave,
the circumference of my navel...
is sensitive
to rawness
and all i can do is...
[sigh]

heart condition

the absence of love

doesn't always breed desperation

the separation from love

at times conditions...

prepares a void

to be refilled

by the One who

garners our implicit faith...

plainly,

i learn to live

with just the blessing to give

that He may,

take his holy ewer

and fill me up again...

humans,

don't make it easy...

oh, do they complicate 

the simplest...

selfishly inflicting their right to be

on me

i abhor the cliched reply

that,

"i am...who i am"

when the truth is

that you are who He's made you to be

someone capable
of living purposefully

...beyond your surface vision
of self and ego

there lives the reflection

of that beautiful image

He created diligently...

at any time,

your power to ignite 

the fires of agape love

can spark and change your immediate world

the things you want to renovate

will tumble down

when you supplicate

and then rise like a building

as a new line in the sky...

who you are
is who you choose to be

maybe it's who you are...

to safely hide the sensitivities

and to justify the inability

to trust you... and not so much me.

and so the beat goes on...

that i'm loving humans

to the point of emptiness,
until i lean...

head back...

eyes closed...

mouth open...

to receive the love He spills into me

and that there,

isn't a thing i can explain...

not the why i do it,

not the why "they"
don't always reciprocate

just the truth,

that His vessel,

feeds my vessel,

and i, in turn feed yours...

and if more of us fed love
to the unloved,
and...put down our cups

and picked up our ladles...

no one may ever feel like,

in order to deal with absence of love...

they had to condition themselves to do without it

writing my way through...two

this is redundant

damnit,

this longing

to scribe...

looking intensely

for the right vibe,

playing music

and reading...

reminiscing on when

words came easy

damn,

i just want to write...

is the thing i scream silently,

so what is it?

why do i get stuck in prose

looking for a poem?

why do i find myself,

free-styling stanzas

of vexation

to force OUT of me

what used to flow like

fountain springs?

i've been doing inventory

drinking up what drops fall

as liquid incentive...

yet i ache at the stillness

is it me?

am i changing?

...is what i ask,

has my muse

left to bring blissful whispers

of worded pleasures

to another?

[whore]

is my time up and over?

have i squandered

my poetic account?

or am i a lifetime member

of the torture and ecstasy

that comes with the artistry?

or have i become too used to the enstasy

...spending too much time

inside my mind,

rummaging through

experiences of old,

instead of creating

new slide shows

and new tides to row...

even though,

i do feel it...a little

that purge pushing past

smoke screens

and veils of veiled attempts

to ignore the tickling

at the base of my spine...

and if i had to be honest,

i'm may be in denial...

that what begs to be written,

ain't what i want to be scribbling...

hiding out in this question

when the answer,

lies barefaced

with glaring eyes...

that i need to quit trying to make it

bend to me

knowing i'm it's slave...

and not the other way around

damnit...

i knew when i started asking,

two entries ago...

that i was rebelling

with my sun's stubbornness

my rising's detachment

and my moon's oblivion...

against the truth...

the truth...

and it's naked ways

beseeching me to see it,

causing blush...all the same

and now,

i'm sitting on the fence

pen ready and unsteady

afraid to see what's left

when the ink dries

blinking blankly

at the reveal...

throwing back the comfort

from what i've tried to conceal

[deep swallow]

i suppose if i obey it

give way to it

and sway with it,

that i'll unblock the passage

and my spirit will stop shimmying

and my head will quit spinning

and my heart will stop seizing...

if i'd only give my muse a reason

to return again...

to write my way through, this too

so, now

i guess i owe y'all a damn poem...

about love...