page 118

"This water is filthy!"

"Love has traveled the long, dirty gullet
of the aqua duct."

"Take me to the source!"


:::


shed your clothes of temperance
and take me.

take me---
pull me---in---with treasonous hands
and the predatory sight of dilated desires.


:::


i see soot under your fingernails.
that ebony, charcoal dust.

you claim our love was short-lived lust
like the speed at which paper can combust.

drop your guard to the spark plug of trust
and the coal you carry can endure
and burn brightly---burn robust.

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page 69

there are friends who comfort us during the thunderstorm. but then there are friends who comfort us during the thunderstorm--- and shelter us from the rain and cover our ears from the noise and ask us if we are ok after the storm passes. cherish those friends who both experience the thunderstorm and wait until the sky returns to peace. a thunderstorm stands no chance against a lighting-love that strikes before  thunder welds a single decibel. ::: when we convince ourselves we cannot overcome the pains of our past, it is as if we are bees who have punctured ourselves with our own stinging-needle. lying on our backs and crushing our wings, there is a field that is not being pollinated. flowers are starving. their nectar is growing sour. in the midst of our pain, we attempt to fly into water, into a soda can, into anything to help us heal. supposedly, there was such a bee who stung herself so badly she could not even fly from the hiv
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