i gaze into the portal of self
whenever i am close to you, my lover.
you lead me to the doorway and
invite me into the corridors of truth.

such volumes; so many stories of
the way things were and the way
things could be. i look to the future
and think of chapters yet to come.

so many winding, twisting paths,
how much i wish my young heart
were a trifle older so i could say
i shared those experiences with you.

but there are words yet to be written,
ideas yet to be penned and
symphonies yet to be composed
by the skilled hands which lead me onward.

there are dreams yet to be dreamt
and lives yet to be acted out
on life’s grand stage; shall we
play our parts, oh maestro mine?

speak with me and i shall
speak with you. share your thoughts
with me and i promise to be the
open book you plumb eternally.

so many things await inside a
future yet to be determined.
tell me of your past, my lover
and we shall forge our future together.

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all i ever wanted,
lover mine,
the feel of your breath
on my skin, the shivers,
the tingles, running up
and down my spine
as though bolts of
electricity, attempting to
restart a stilled heart
with your touch.

all i ever needed,
my eternal maestro,
the feel of your arms
wrapped around me
presence so close,
a whisper passing
between us within the
still of night, so blessed.
kiss me again and
dance with me in dreams.

and i shall find you
in the spaces in-between
and i shall find you
in the moments spaced
like breadcrumbs leading
me back to your heart.
keep me locked there
so i can be free,
keep me immersed there
so i can drown in you.

all i ever longed for
my fallen angel,
the sense of completion
the quiet, the tranquility,
a mind at rest and a
body settled against
mine, i kiss you
once more and pray
to whatever gods listen
to keep us this way forever.

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the poet etches words onto a paper
indelible words, with indelible sentiments
spoken in the deepest portions of the
deepest channels within a river running
through the very soul.

what could be said more than the
languages invented by men?
fickle, the sentences, often written
to lay the foundation of houses built on sand.
i watched the tide come in once.
it swept away the firmament.

tell me what conveys truth deeper
than these falllible tools?

would droplets of blood upon a canvas
do the work of a hundred sorcerers
casting a hundred spells to make these
small and simple phrases
lift from the page and bleed into the
cracks and fissures of your heart?

would the whispers of angels
in the ears of gods on thrones above
lace the ink spilled on the parchment
with such magic, the truth could not
be spoken any more sincere?

bound to the earth, i am.

the spells and whispers, the drops of blood,
all of these things yet find their footing
on those castles made of clay
laid down by servants of the master of deceit.

the written word, the double-edged sword,
slices through the marrow, but not often
to mend or bring the peace which
simply knowing often brings.

instead the truth resides within
not the tools… not the pen and ink before me,
but within the soul of he who writes them.
the heart of he whose fingertips
hold the instrument within their grip.

the poet speaks his very life
within the shaky breath and the
weak knees, the tears and soft caresses,
imparted one upon the other.
love, like a river flowing,
soul to soul and heart to heart.

such is the cadence of words
presented with hands outstretched before you.
let eyes meet eyes and hands meet hands
and therein lies the truth.

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walk with me through the shifting sands
of centuries, rolling in a constant ebb and flow.
time, itself, irrelevant except to burn the twilight
with the light of day, but in the night…

… in the night, you and i are gods.

strolling through the cavalcade of humanity,
hand in hand with the world around us
a place and time to be recorded in
memories yet being penned, to be penned…

… forever, lover… page after page in our story.

dancing with you, arms wrapped tight around
the one thing i shall ever want or need.
feeling you close to me, breathless moments
with lips brushing against lips, closing eyes…

… to kiss you. rob my breath and take my life.

i beg you. yours, each day, yours to capture
completed are we, two pieces of a puzzle,
sewn together into a tapestry.
yours, unending symphony, enthralled by you…

… immortal lover mine, my soul’s delight.

walk with me through passing scenery
and fill us both with the enchantment
i can only find in you. walk with me and i
shall be by your side, come what may…

… your eternal companion…

… your poet, bound and true…

… a constant star inside the night sky
we possess and claim as our own
through shifting sands and rising tides
now, lover, and forevermore.

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fall to my knees before you,
sinking to the lowest of positions,
if just to let you know
the contents of my heart. the emotions
swirling around me like a torrent.
lose myself, i want to lose myself.
lost myself and i became undone before you.

heartstrings plucked; a melody this heart
has only fantasized about.
you… my moon and stars…
i would gladly kneel before the celestial sky,
the conductor of love’s orchestra,
and pay homage to the spirit
which captures the soul of this poet.

collecting myself only to fall apart,
splintered asunder and mended again
by soothing hands and delighted smiles.
heavens above, i fall into embraces which
only throw me further into need of you.
fall back on the arms of desire,
punctuated by the caress of devotion.

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Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

***

Enjoy the Silence

The creeping sound of the inevitable is one I have learned to loathe and yet, something I have become accustomed to after fifty-five years on this mortal coil. Everything seems to have its own pulse and while a steady, healthy beat thumping in time with the rhythm of life lets us know the body around us is healthy, when the heart starts to fail, the results can be devastating.

“Words, like violence, break the silence…” Read the rest of this entry

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Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

***

Forgive Me

As the night wore on, I found myself wondering about the knot forming in my stomach. One of the unfortunate side effects of being a seer is the uncanny ability to sense the strangest things. A wicked set of eyes upon me; the intent of evil beings when they mean harm or malice to others. Much of that has had to be tempered, as my own intentions toward a mortal can be less than noble, especially as of late. Embracing what I am has forced things to be as such, but it is a path I care little for retreating from as I find peace with my vampire nature at long last.

So, these whispers and chills have taken on a different form. Intuition, some call it. That heavy weight which deposits itself on my shoulders when I scent something in the air without a face or name. Once upon a time, I boasted of great power and wielded it with authority. I used to gather energy to my fingertips and use it to throw man and vampire alike around like rag dolls, but such had not been the case for years. At best, I became a petty magician after Monica’s death.

Things were different now, though. Ever since meeting Victor, my past had the habit of surfacing during my most private moments with my lover. Years ago, I swore never to speak of who or what I was to any depth and only violated this covenant with Robin and, in very limited instances, with Celeste. Now, though, I spent hours with Victor, exchanging stories over who we were to the deepest, most intimate parts of ourselves. I spoke names I had stricken from my lips. I shed tears I bottled years ago. I explored my abilities in more depth behind closed doors after demonstrating them to Victor.

I opened the doors wide and allowed somebody into the innermost recesses of myself. Read the rest of this entry

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Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

***

A Fixed Point in the Cosmos

It took several seconds of fishing through pockets for me to find the metal cigarette case gifted to me when I yet lived with Ophelia in Toronto. The moment I pulled it out, though, I reconsidered my urge for this lingering mortal crutch. I had wandered outside for this purpose alone and yet, it seemed now that I was outside, I needed something else. My eyes raised heavenward while I turned the case around in my hand idly.

The stars seemed exceptionally bright, but still my thoughts could not help but to drift to when I was a boy, regarding the heavens from the fields my father tended. In rural Pennsylvania, we were surrounded by nothing more than land, it seemed – expansive as the eye could wander either north, east, south, or west. As such, when my much younger and more alive self stared at the stars, he beheld bright crystals shimmering in the black expanse above him. I have wandered many places and looked to the sky each time my feet have touched unfamiliar soil. Never have I seen the stars so brilliant as I did back then. Read the rest of this entry

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