Take every
flaxen shore
you have ever visited.
The warm grains of sand
filling the spaces between your toes,
the cool waves
lapping against your legs,
the splash
of a salted breeze
against your
sun-soaked skin
the crash of the ocean’s fury
rushing to your ears
giving you goosebumps.

Take every
purple mountain
you have ever climbed.
The crisp air
saturated with sage and pine
fills your lungs,
the morning dew
resting ever so lazily
upon the evergreen emerald eaves
of the chaparrals,
reflecting a dazzling display
of reds and blues
of oranges and greens
as the sun radiates its Light
from on high.

Take every
bustling city
you have ever known.
The lazy arpeggios
of the pianist upstairs,
float gently down
as you sip your first press
of hazelnut coffee.
The first few snowflakes
that alight upon your pink nose
on your way home
through the crowded streets,
the smell of freshly baked
sourdough pretzels
lingering in the winter air.

Take these things,
and imagine
feeling all of these at once,
when she says your name.

is it not?


To Love A Girl

Take her hand,
lace your fingers,
through hers
and hold it tight.
Take the small
of her back
in the other
and cup it gently.
Feel her hand
upon your shoulder,
feel her pulse
rising to match your own.
Now sway,
Give her a small twirl.
Now reel her back.
She’s close now,
her breath
like whiskey
on your lips.
Look into her eyes
see her pupils widen
because it’s been so long.
The swaying stops
and you can almost hear
the tumblers in her heart
that she locked away
begin to open
for you.
Your lips meet
and you swear
there isn’t a drink
anywhere in the world
that could compare
to the taste of her.

Take her hand
lace your fingers
through hers
and hold it tight.


Event Horizon

Blood reaches
a fever pitch
as her skin grazes mine.
My blues
meet her browns
and we become
a fantastical fusion
of freckles
and scars
of teeth and bone
as limbs entwine
and lips combine
breath becomes erratic
and souls combust
in a brilliant flare
of sun-drenched
love between
two collapsing stars
burns the brightest,
does it not?



I have heard it said
that broken people
are able to love better than most.
That once you’ve been in the dark
you learn to appreciate
all of the things that shine.
And while the Light
inside my heart
believes this to be true,
the Shadow in my mind
knows better.
much better.
you take
some of the darkness with you
and you cannot help but give it
because darkness is all you know.
You have grown
too twisted
too hard
too blind
in the darkness
that sometimes
you can never appreciate the Light
because you are too busy
casting everything
in shadow.



I sat
in silent solemnity
as the bartender poured
his bourbon.
My eyes fell upon the
as it splashed lazily
across the glassed surface
of the ice cubes.
I was reminded
of how much your hair
fell about your collarbone
in a similar way,
it’s chocolate hues
contrasted by the alabaster
sheen of your freckle-kissed
moon-soaked skin
brought back the smell of you.
It always smelled like home,
to me.

“What are we trying to forget tonight, pal?”
the bartender wheezed.

“Not forget,” I muttered,




This time of year
without a doubt,
my favorite time of year.

Fondest memories
of me in my worn-out jeans,
running through the falling leaves
that soul-soothing crunch 
sang to my ears
as my little feet would carry me
as far as my eyes could see.

I distinctly remember
Vince Guaraldi,
playing over my dad’s record player,
his finest piano work
really just the icing
on the pumpkin pie
that was this wonderful season.

It was the time of year
where the sun would rise a little earlier
and sank a little sooner;
a time where the neighborhood boys
all pretended to be their favorite football stars
through hail mary
after hail mary
in their own Turkey Bowl,
becoming Hall of Famers
in their own minds.

The brilliant display
of green to golds
of emerald to ruby
made this time of year
truly magical.
And the falling of the leaves
told of a deeper truth.
There is much beauty in change.
Of stripping away old bark
shedding off the old leaves
and starting anew,
starting bare.

Do not mourn the passing
of things old
for too long
for they herald
a time of great beauty
of incredible change
of indelible growth
of a cycle as old
as Time itself.

I guess it’s true what they say;

The more things change,
the more they stay the same.

This year
without a doubt,
my favorite time of year.