Without your touch,
I forget my place.
And I find my world barren
absent your embrace.
Without you, I am lonely
with a loneliness that kills.
But with you, darling,
I’m lonelier still.
Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
Without your touch,
I forget my place.
And I find my world barren
absent your embrace.
Without you, I am lonely
with a loneliness that kills.
But with you, darling,
I’m lonelier still.
Unmerited love
and joy unforeseen,
in the glow of your fire,
my soul is evergreen.
I used to read
romance novels
in a fit of fantasy,
living through the characters,
indulging in their dalliance.
Now I read them
as a sort of tragedy;
tales of two lovers
who will never experience
that look in your eyes.
She’s a brilliant moon
and, oh,
how I long for the night.
As I think about you,
it takes
less and less oil
to light myself
on fire.
Literature and love
perform much the same:
a flowery dressing,
a crafted seduction,
and an uncovering
that makes the reader
to quiver.
They ask
if I’ve ever been
black out drunk,
and I can’t help
but to rememeber
how intoxicated
I was
when I first saw you.
It’s not that most connections
carry no love;
it’s that so many loves
can exist only in one space —
can survive only at the bar
or breathe only within an app.
To uncover a connection
worth pursuing
is to find a love that can flourish
at home
and in the streets —
Saturday night
and Sunday morning.