Sexual Abreaction: Sketching Sleeplessness

My chin
is raw
from the earliest spit against
your half-day past clean shaven face all
masculine, instinctive, fundamentally passionate.

I studied the structure of your face while you slept, the force of your eyebrows, the set of your eyes, the pattern of your hair, and the systems and procedures in your body’s orchestrated movement through every breath.

I see in you, the faces of a hundred generations of searchers but yet a man giving way to happenstance and a hope that we’ve evolved a way to convey what we need, to tell with eyes only. To harness the obstinate beauty of a man walking strong like a street monarch marching in forward nobility, recalled by those who could not comprehend that love, aching behind him for eternity, like a thousand summers gone, like a symphony, languid and sad, their passions leveled by the enlightened moment of a final understanding that love that has slipped through their fingers like my hands through your hair: an abbreviation of all that has worked to invent you. And there inside you is love, a volatility in mercurial indefinance.

So give it to me.

Twenty one hours later, I still taste the beauty of your name in my mouth.

Diffusing Light: Dayrise As Devotional Closure

I have grown to enjoy the sun, maybe because it’s one of the only constants between us both. Even if we vowed our lives to combing the darkest places of the Earth and of our hearts, it wouldn't matter. There is no place on Earth where we will be unaffected by the interminable rise. And in that rise, we are offered life, but you just give it the blind treatment. I pray to see a primal sketch of this resolve, study it's movements, and learn the methods necessary to recreate the moments of opulent humanity – you know, the blinks of the eye that are made into movies. But you, like good weather, wouldn’t come or stay, no matter how much I needed you to.

Suddenly, through a sensitive squint, I see. Your eyes are not simple, objective organs to stare at. They are a spillway into your soul, telescoping a vitality equally vandalized as mine. And I see a certain proof. A proof that of our perceptions perceived as truth, proof that we are unbalanced. The unbalance is urgently genuflected and plainly, my happiness will never rise unless it does simultaneously with your own. My struggle is your struggle. What was done to me, was done by a human. What I did, I did to a human. Now, I know. You are human. Words have so long been my sword and shield, but here and now, I abandon them for your eye-contact, for the tremble in your voice, for the smell of a sweating anxiety in wanting closure ["Please, let this be over."], in wanting a setting ["Lightly, take cover."]. Tandem, we rise.

It’s light now. I find myself again. I can see ahead, I ask “Where was I?”



I hope daybreak gives you faith.