I breathe life into her

and she breathes life

into me

I am her body

every part of me

love, chooses us

like a Boquete of dancing flowers

like a morning

that has not yet come

or called our name.

there are things

of the mediocre


that average men

like spreadsheets.

Reaching for her

when she, is just out of reach.

I am surrounded by dead things

grasping for fantasies, I can place in a dingy cupboard.

Live things

don’t collect dust

they collect

light, sunset light

on waves of eternal play

they giggle

like whirlpool waters


on the way down.

Rich things

can be cold and damp

or warm, as the summer sun

Canary-yellow Ferrari

on blue Caribbean day

cobblestone streets

and Gelato.

I’m guilty of wanting to trap beautiful things

sweet things

tasty and smooth

black and yellow butterflies

dusty swallowtails

that swallow-up my soul

let me know what it tastes like

sensual delight

beautiful butterfly

I want to try on your wings

to fly with you

to make me feel alive

but I know

alive things fly with alive things

the sandy ocean

is for sandy ocean women.

I watch the alive things

it hurts to look at them

but I can’t look away

beauty is just out of reach

if we could only grab it

and hold onto it

without choking her

like a yellow rose


and dying

in lukewarm water


in a dusty house.

I prefer to watch beautiful things

staying alive.

I’ll capture them in photographs

in my mind.

I won’t mount them

on satin or velvet

like a sexual conquest

with the needle piercing through.

I’ll let them be alive

free, and dancing

Alive, so different from me

I wish I could live with them

I wish I could be with her

Alive things grow in my soil


she is every part of me

we might breathe the same air

if I was breathing

Give me the breath of life

so that I can breathe into you.

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