Map

A mess of lines,

a disguise a mask of star maps

to planetary release,

I watch you breathe your eyes closed,

forming words to bite back, attack

softly, a gentle word of being alone.

I find you un-believable,

Incomprehensible marvel.

You will not steal without asking first.

So we are not on an edge,

we feel with hands atop hand.

Searching a minefield

or ocean.

The forceful hush,

the heavy feather.

The iron grace.

The force of eyes so full,

so star-glazed, animal curiosity.

Such smooth grace,

once rough around edges.

Stories untold by firelight,

eyes give us all

we asked for.

I do not understand your dispersal,

but I, timid, accept.

Ode

My eyes do not deserve the stars,

and the freckles in yours.

Maybe by the moonlight security would seem

blissful, but I fear I wait.

For something not worth wait,

a shadow of a blade of grass,

or a leaf.

I miss you still, whether recommended or no.

Controlling seems futile

when love is the night sky.

I may wait to some degree,

but I enjoy the journey and the faces of those

who teach without recognition of doing so.

Those who I love each piece of

and their reflection of our planet I hold in high regard.

For they are of the earth

as you are,

and this keeps oceans at my fingertips,

futility refuted.

I close a sanctuary around you

you who are of the stars

and moon-dust,

particularly particled.

You whose atoms vibrate inside fingertips

on skin

A pulse, intangible and weakening.

All who are here radiate to your eyes,

and your hand is a feather in mine.

Pulse

The night-hour lingers like

your invisible breath

ocean-stars away.

My hands are too small to hold on,

and this I find relief within

as for once I do not control

confirm coincidence,

and then will I believe you are truthful

and not fabrication.

No more perfect is the sky than

oceans of you.

I find peace in sharing a place to stand with you,

and yet departure does not sadden.

For difference comes with denial,

and the secret you have become in my pulse.

I see I falter yet when I stray

you shine, reminder of home.

Still one more, one must let me believe

that I am right for once

And not illusioned.

For the human mind can beckon greed

'til a single being remains, cold.

I wish to feel a heart in time with the closing of my eyelids

a hand to push back the discord

and welcome the planet.

Synapses

Breathing in time with mine

would welcome sleep.

Sanctuary of warmth.

Blink, touch, close.

I feel you underneath my fingertips

you are here.

Though far.

I do not mind for you are still.

Solidity is welcomed but solace is fine.

More than bearable, I long for a reality

But understand my need to be alone.

Because I am not alone,

one touch holds a thousand yous

and my eyes believe you when I sleep.

Your atoms are my synapses

and still linger in the air,

frozen constellations of

freckles upon my skin.

I will carry you.

The tip of my tongue

Do not rush, time.

I understand the upside-down.

Your hands point to

confirm, relearn.

I let you synchronize

the signs for us.

I refuse to wait,

commands are not of substance

when they repeat.

I have learned and avoid relearning.

Moons settle and I almost lose,

you are the tip of my tongue

but a secret I keep

gracious on my heart.

The three times I fought

with a star that is a sun

for you

Everyone watches their own.

I have things I can keep,

for were I to tell

no one would listen like I

heard you.

From treasure to a thought,

a fancy.

A knowing unknowingly wrong,

I hold you underneath;

tip of my tongue.

The grace, the great grace, the wonder.