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"It's been over a year. 

I realize, 

eyes playing about on dates

of the calender.

 

Suddenly thinking

back to a year before, 

days exactly 364.

So, less than a year, 

 

by hours. When the

lips that pressed were ours.

When our fingers intertwined, 

when we felt each others' bodies, 

 

souls, mind. 

So wrong, so forbidden, 

it felt right.

Written into passing,

 

the scripts and screenplay

of night-time stays, 

never staying until morning. 

Visits, 

 

door left unlocked, 

just in case.

Offered, often heard, 

only once utilized. 

 

She always said she would. 

 

Eventually. 

She did, 

softly cooing my name, 

pulling me out of my slumber, 

 

and instantly hopping into my bed, 

my arms, pulling her close. 

My warm bare skin

 

juxtaposed to her cold clothing. 

We soon matched. 

There was no lack

of mutual attraction, 

 

no shortage of constant communication, 

trips, adventures, 

ridiculous confessions 

and straight-forward denial. 

 

I denied I did wrong, 

to myself. 

Who knows how she felt.

All I know 

 

is that she felt good, 

she felt like home, 

like I belonged. 

Longing for her scent, 

 

I still remember

how it drove me wild.

Past-tense, 

as she liked to point out.

 

It's a lie, 

there is nothing passed. 

Though, once she asked

if she was hurting me.

 

I, misunderstanding, 

replied, 'why, no, 

it's my other shoulder 

that's broken.'

 

She grinned, 

leaning into my arms, 

'no,' she said, 

'this. Us.'

 

It hurt, 

seeing her dog I grew to adore

slowly separate us on the couch 

a year or so ago. 

 

It hurts still

thinking of some details. 

Fond memories, 

so vivid, full of her laughter. 

 

Haunted by scorn, 

the scorn of several people, 

over all that transpired. 

You'd think a year

 

would wash it all away, 

but nothing is past-tense. 

Hence, 

 

the dreams. 

Thoughts I can't deny, 

lying that they're gone.

They aren't.  

 

I was told it was trouble,  

I was warned. 

But still I got in her car, 

she got in mine. 

 

She's a phone call away;

I don't have the heart

to dial, 

knowing damn well

 

I'd immediately answer if she called. 

Does she read my poetry? 

Does she think of me?

Love me like I love her still? 

 

I should have not turned my cheek.

I should have came to her rescue 

against canine off-leash. 

But I didn't. 

 

And I wish I had.

Instead, all I have

is a book with edits, 

another that's a gift

 

belonging to her, 

one of her favorites. 

We even shared a quote, 

'Never lend a book.'

 

An act of affection instead, 

one of several.

She never said the words, 

but she gave me many gifts. 

 

It started with a cold can.

That's how she loved me.

I wish I had realized it

a year or so ago."

these are the gardens that keep us from hiding. under the burning moon you too will see that the stars which fall upon us are nothing more then forgotten dreams living a wishes life. the streak in the wake of its passing made me forget the meaning of its purpose, i hope you do too. someday youll see the happiness left behind, behind your head you store these thoughts. hoping to forget what its like to dream and think and live and love, hate, fear, give and take and shove aside all thats not important. its hard to see the sky when youre looking down, its hard to be happy when theres always a frown. on your face a tear escapes your eye. you quick wipe it away, trying once more to forget what its like to care. but this time of not yourself. you fixate your thoughts on the magic of now. looking up you see ive meant. you see the light, the sun, the moon, the stars and the dreams that were never sent.

In my heart, loneliness is brewing

Winter rain is greeting my backyard

Something from the past is calling

 

All the thought, memory, seems to fade

You did shed sunlight in my heart

Days by days of my life, I have wasted

 

Still, I am here, the same man

Empty hand, waiting for its old warmth

 

A man doesn’t last, but his feelings do

 

 

............

 

took the 

            breathe train

 skyward,

 

spiraling out,

        letting go 

     of linear time,

 

a freckled blanket

         greets us,

 

     i touch you 

in the years 

                    

we 

         missed,

   

      light years away,

 within the dreams 

 

            of gods.

 

 

10:24 PM 7/7/2013

 

©

 

 

 

.............

In my childhood and teenage

years I had a cousin, which him

and I were like the ocean and

sand, inseparable;

I would share my early poetry

writings with him, he was 

actually my first critic!  

In our childhood we became

tougher by fighting each other

although I never took too much

pride in fighting, he's a fighter!

He's also an artist who's canvas

paintings at times reflected my

poetry. I remember the time I

wrote a poem after a dream I had.

I was so eager to show him the

poem, I ran to his house, to my

surprise I found him painting on a

canvas.

I gave him my poem to read as I

acknowledge his painting--we both

looked at each other with an 'aw'

because what I had just written he

had painted.

That is when we knew our minds

were connected; this was 20 years

ago, today I hardly see him! Not

that I don't want too, or the time in

our life's doesn't allow, but feel I

am of a nuisance or bother in his

life now.

Yes, I'm wild in nature, but the

more I see him the more distant he

seems, or maybe I am the one who

seems distant, but I have made an

effort to keep close, yet seems so

far in my effort!

I miss my cousin Orlando, the

previous version! Maybe we've

grown to far apart to come close

again! Maybe! 

Remember a cousin sometimes

becomes the only brother or sister

who knows you better than most

including your own siblings.

He was a brother to me! Every day I

reminiece on the good ol' days!