A Soldier On Leave

A tulip, red and white, like your flag, your home.

I pin it carefully to your well worn jacket, as if

Pinning a medal on a heroic soldier who showed

Such great valor and bravery. You did, in a different

Kind of battle, a different kind of war.

 

You kiss my cheek, and curl your fingers in my hair.

An armistice has been reached, and tonight, right now

The cannons of demons, the mines of intrusive thoughts,

the napalm raids compulsion and vicious thoughts,

are stilled, and you are just a young woman, in love.

 

We walk hand in hand under garish neon, rich smells

Of food stalls, the loud noises of traffic and music,

And the rumble of commuter trains, just enjoying

This each other’s company, a soldier on leave

That the meds and love can only keep you for so long.

 

The war never ends. It all fades for a few moments.

A few days, a night or two. The war goes on and on.

But you fight on, and I hold you near and wash the blood

Of your broken thoughts with my tears, and soothe with

The softest of kisses, until you can return on leave again.

Score The Moon

The rust colored hair, like hazy and softcore photos of an aging glamour.

The freckles where all the angels kissed her as she slept, especially after it all.

Fast company but fun at the picture show, silliness we no longer value but do love.

 

Pacific Coast Highway it all went to black, and the driver watched the stars, bleeding.

No glass coffins but the camera’s lens, that keeps the beauty and blood as it ages.

It all burns brightly, wherever she’s gone, whatever reward she received by the sea.

 

Compiled and collected, two dimensions are the best hauntings for ghosts and past days.

The fire passes on no matter how we light the stars or score the moon or seek a better lust.

The Pacific remembers, and loss before birth still steals kisses that angels had set aside.

A Change of Season

Mussy, short cut hair, and those bright blue eyes.

               Too large flannel, long sleeved shirt, dark colored tee.

               Fading denim jeans, and worn out Converse high tops.

               First of autumn, evening coming crisp as dry, dead leaves.

 

               My palms are sweaty, and I’m hot despite the cool air.

               The stars starting to bejewel the blood velvet of sunset.

               You smile, but don’t look at me, as I try to gather my nerve.

               My hands tremble, and the damp smell of leaves is sweet.

 

               I take your hand in mine, and squeeze. You sigh, turn to me.

               We face each other, eyes bright and clear and as open as the sky.

               I stroke your cheek, and you close your eyes, lean into my fingers.

               Leaves fall and the trees die back, but life is ever bright and warm.

 

               Unsure, I lean forward, our lips touching, and you kiss me back.

               My hand on your cheek, your fingers stroking my curly, wild hair.

               I am warm like I swallowed the sun, wrapped in eternal, divine light.

               The season has changed, light in the dark, as we walk hand in hand.

Shared

Shared

 

               This was a secret world, among the thick green and tall grass, a lush little grotto by the clear, silver creek. The sounds of the highway and the shouts and noise of the people in the town did not come here. It was a shard of Eden.

               Gabriella was leading me by the hand. That hand was small and warm, and felt so light and strong in my own. We did not talk, as this was sacred.

               The branches and leaves of the trees hid even the twilight sky, though honeyed gold lit us in robes of flames. She pulled her hand away and faced me. She smiled, then placed her hands on my shoulders, signaling me to kneel in the dirt.

               I did.

               Her smile grew brighter, and she did the same.

               Her fingers brushed my cheek, and she looked me in the eye, locking me in her light, which was grey like starlight, and as ancient. Her eyes were the color of the water that was the only sound, deep and resonate and without blemish.

               She kissed me, softly, tenderly. Her fingers curled into my hair.

               A light began to emminate from inside her chest, crimson and pulsating and rich, the color of blood and life and birth. She put her fingers into that light, and pulled her chest open.

               The ball of crimson light came out in her hands. Our sacred place was like an unshed womb, dark with nuturing flesh.

               On her face was a shy and intimate smile, the light in her hand she was handing to me, to my hands that waited and trembled, in this most intimate moment, our most delicate bonding.

               She was handing me her soul.

               I held it, and it was heat that did not burn, a dream that did not wake, a wound that was cut and healed at birth.

               I felt the light of her, the essence that had drawn me to her, helpless against her wonder, was in my hands.

               We were one, this angel and me.

               And I felt all the sweetness of my life return, untarnished by loss and the fall from grace, I felt the times the light of heaven had poured through me like the river crashing in white capped power down the mountain, washing away all else in it’s past.

               If I had been unworth, we both would have burned away.

               And in that fleeting eternity, that sweetness of her glory, she knew all there was in me, and all I could be, that I would be, for her, for us.

               And I returned her soul to her , and slipped back into her silk and soft flesh that closed around it, and sealed in the light.

               She looked like a young woman again, hiding her power and beauty.

               Again, she reached out and touched my face, stroking my cheek.

               Again, she gave me a soft, tender kiss.

               The tears wracked me then, unable to absorb all that had happened, that we had shared.

               She drew me in her arms and kissed my head, sang me a song from some happy land.

               I cried, then slept in her arms.

Bright Colors

They want you in black and ashen finery, the harsh angel.

               I prefer you in bright colors, the girl next door, an autumn day.

               The pictures of you laughing as the leaves fall around you,

               And you seem joyous and full of warmth the sun is putting away.

 

               All the pictures in a folder, the autumn dreamer, the summer lover,

               The winter sweetheart, the springtime saint, all the brightness freely given.

               Unlike the faces you procure to perform and cut throats and rule in movies.

               Unlike the reaper of blood and damnation the other so fervently adore.

 

               A dream, unmade in its casting, the tenderness that is a shard in my heart.

               You and me and a happy world, silly movies and domestic happiness

               And soft and mischievous love making, and talks into the night,

               Sad songs and cuddling and so many bottles of red wine.

 

               I don’t want the demoness. I want the girl.

               But neither is real. All our faces are dreams.

               All eyes see are mirages and not the sainted sun.

 

The Stars of Paradise

I’ve been lost for years, dreaming, but not making it through.

               The stars of paradise, their light and warmth, from you I drew.

               The cold days are spring like, and there’s no silence in winter rain.

               I look at pictures, blue bikini, red wine, on holiday in coastal Spain.

 

               I try to conjure a phantom, a sense ghost, trick my skin to thin you’re here.

               That lovely one, in a crystal palace, queen of the moon, my bitter souvenir.

               Try to trick my lips to think it’s your kisses, not my own fingers running over them.

               Angels’ light can be so cruel, shining for only a moments, it’s daylight so very slim.

 

               All the people here are ghosts, maybe demons, or just not a bell rung by my voice.

               I dream of downloading all your movies, take a train to New Orleans, blasphemy rejoice!

               I try to conjure you, or a chimera that will dance with me, make me think it’s so real,

               In the videos and pictures and silly fantasies written in fan fiction, but truth will repeal.

              

The Silence In The Sky

I built a world around you,

               The silence in the sky,

               The girl that came to earth

               For a time in the last summer.

 

               You touched my face,

               And kissed me so softly,

               And lit the sun again,

               As the winter came again.

 

               I keep a place for you,

               In memory and devotion,

               Of all the wonders shown,

               And all the love you gave.

 

               I look to the stars at night,

               As you are an angel in heaven,

               And I’m still her in flesh and blood,

               Wanting to know holy light once more.

 

               I keep the place for you,

               Keep it tended and bright,

               To hold onto the light of you,

               The glory of the sky above.

Coming Into The Light

I look at this photograph, hidden away, coming into the light.

               You Ellie, all of fifteen, hair still long, last name still Doremy.

               Smiling, you were absolutely free, and feeling angel wings grow.

               Invisible, but they would carry you, to the stars that were your home.

 

               Now, you and I heading close to forty, with a modest but sweet life.

               You play with the cat, which is amused, then indifferent, then hostile.

               You’re starting to show, our child coming from void into flesh and bone.

               You carry your scars well, but they’re there, still dimmed the starlight.

 

               That winter, that church party, we fell in love, fell into the sun, blameless.

               We were allowed to dance, adequately separated, but still holding on.

               You looked into my eyes, the angel unfurling, the wings carry us on high

               Though our feet we’re touching earth, we were carried to a better elsewhere.

 

               The world goes on, and the blood is shed, the dreams dimmed, the darkness come.

               We fall from innocence, take our bites of the apple, and learn our bare, sad shame.

               We are still sweet, still retain the light, can still sometimes touch heaven, still here.

               The child you carry, will be a glory and angel innocence, but become fallen like us.

 

               Outside, the snow falling, the stars not there to bear witness, you pulled me near.

               Our flashed and cold faces, our pale lips touched, a kiss clandestine and innocent.

               Our first kiss, and the dream began, and the moment that God gave us came here.

               One moment to lift us to on high, you wings carrying us, to were stars always shone.

 

              

              

Her Cheek In Starlight

 

Ellie is asleep, curled into my chest, her cheek in starlight.

 

               That sweet face catching the kisses of galaxies, of moonlight.

 

               I feel her fierce, Fae heart beating in her chest, proud, strong.

 

               She has highborn elders, angelic light, a beautiful, holy song.

 

 

 

               I can’t sleep as easy as she does, the swirls of black hole force

 

               Pulling out the light, into the abyss of my hatred’s deep source.

 

               The stars that orbit Ellie’s galactic center, the light of my grace

 

               Are being pulled and distended, by that bottomless, cruel place.

 

 

 

               She is so effortlessly a child of the heavens, of The Most High.

 

               She is a North Star, a guide in the darkness, An Angel to defy

 

               The Red Dragon, who pulls down the stars of hope and devotion,

 

               Who unleashes a tide to drown all tenderness in bitter, dark emotion.

 

 

 

               Her starlight radiates, her fierce Fae heart powers the light pouring free,

 

               And I, like the moon, soak it up and redirect it out, giving love thoughtlessly.

 

               I sleep into peace and sleep, holding onto the one I adore, protect and cherish.

 

               And my I be like her, an angel in the sky, a guiding star, after I from this world perish.

 

 

 

Whispers of Delight

Ellie, it’s not like it used to be.

               Not the carefree afternoons,

               And reckless summer nights.

               Not the infinite world before us.

 

               We had our moment,

               We had our sun.

               Now it’s the darker world,

               With whispers of delight.

 

               We rode the motorbike to the river.

               No wine, but coffee and tea,

               Sandwhiches, as summer ends.

               You gently touch your stomach.

 

               The world so finite in an afternoon,

               As we  talk  and hold each other, kiss.

               A child on the way. You hope for a girl.

               You hope there’ll be a world left for it.

 

               We ride home in dusk, orange and purple,

               And you’re holding tight to me, to whatever hope.

               The dreams make promise never kept.

               We make dreams, castles of light, from their ruins.