Syrup and Frost Part II: A Kaleidoscopic Journey

She’s smiling cheek to cheek, wide veneer Cheshire
Feel my eyes tether through your bedside
This that pressurized, bend-her-over sex drive
The entry to her treasure room, legs wide
Find you in the vestibule, whisper at your backside
‘Cause vigor’s just a side effect to when I imbibe
If pleasure’s just a mental boost
I take pleasure in these mental boosts every damn time
Every touch explodes, fingers foot soldiers on a landmine
Something better be boiling on the inside
Finger trace narcotic curves. I’m in a daze
Can’t I concentrate on what God unfurled?
My pussy. You love it when I commentate on what I deserve
But you hate when I try to say that I’m unheard Undulating hyper-wave has gone berserk
Now I’m insane ’cause you don’t fuck the same from what I observed.
I’m hardheaded. My heart is soft-centered.
Call center worker spun into withdrawal shivers
Jewel spheres spawn light into these dark whispers
Calm flickers, palm slipping, annihilation
We’d drop zippers. Soft whimpers, dilating raw rhythm
You and I, condone this
Kaleidoscopic, eye scoping, slight hypnosis.
Caution warning message is sent
60mg oxytocin shower the flesh of your lips
Hypnotic dosage
Her butterfly journal.
No reason to flutter
Like a field I discovered, where I trace over patterns left by previous lovers
Mind boggled, too.
Reading diaries on how they failed to conquer you
Chapters left blank, with nothing but a pencil and time
Hand drawing rainbows with watercolor pigmenting dye
The arc of your back, with melted oil enzymes
Frozen moment in time, where we coil inside
Tongue ready to taste sweat that delicately falls up
Like summer tree leaves in the depths of autumn
Or syrup filling spaces between bark on a maple
Sitting on the hilly banks swaddled in hazel
How are we able?
Despite our armor
So frigid.
Both thinking twice as hard
Fragile, frosted, crystallizing water
Budding with pheromones to visualize our partner
Bubbling over seas of red and rosy, slow touches, moans buzzing, and get-to-know-mes
Blanket passion.
The kiss-me-slowlys
Turn sound off. Let me go, please
Enshrouded with fervor
Can we hear you in a forest of trees when you shout and you murmur?

Michelangelo-esque signatures on your crafted marble cheekbones
Carnal loopholes, my caramel tease show
Full-figured, bloodshot, pouty lips
Dark hair, gun-shy rowdiness
Mirroring oblivion, tongue-tied drowsiness
Unruly temptation.
Come into my arms
Soul treks along spacetime and elation
Unknowingly engulfing night stars
Black holes and coffee-stained eyeballs (mine)
Rose petals and footprints to the daybed
Colors in every conceivable wavelength
Every nerve burdened, creates a spark
Swallowed by the permeating darkness
Of uncertainty and foregone attraction
Swerving clean into this moment collapsing
Where the present flowing meets passion
Seagoer calls for all hands back up on deck
Captain’s calloused hands meet the back of her neck

Syrup and Frost Part I: A Poem of Desire and Despair

What do you feel when you apply the sentience?
Besides wall pinning and drizzling fire sessions
Momentary silence, pin drop in an empty room
Padded wall, effervescent and sensual
Feeling your feminine voice
Telegraph vibrations through many a noise
Millennia’s not enough time to fix things we destroyed
I feel violated.
Pass me the void
Barely observant. Just an impressionable boy
Unpacking post-traumatic memory noise
Your electrical currents blend into words
Ready to work, to have me possessed, like your servant
Invested, alluring.
The rest is concerning
Subway network connecting my brain
Muscle memory. Where her head would lay
Tapping longing lust in this mental frame
Karma sucks and it seems that way
‘Cause I feel she turns the other cheek when I plead my case
You chiseled your name on my torso

I call them the Ouija board hormones
You summon them like you’re playing a game

Heart strings tug at your love’s centerpiece
Commanding nerve endings to all rise like a judge entering
The ultimate meaning, what so many fear
Meeting the puppeteer to this compulsory feeling
Surgeon who writes cursive in different languages, slurring In the OR tugging fleshy strings with insatiable thirsting
Like water to rivers, drought cleansing downpour

Crowned thorn.
Your love was the last remaining oasis outsourced

Super Conservative: A Poem of Hypocrisy and Heartbreak

If… I get to the point where no one’s love embroiders me,
I’d mix the oils, clay, and color coordinate the sordid seams
Avoid distaste. Anointed is the day she’s holding me
Hoist your rose-colored lies on a crown of thorny leaves
Hearing voices, and all Of them enjoy to scream
Tend to open wounds, forget the ointment and gauze
Nirvana’s intensely consoling.
And I’m pointing to God
For answers. For pensive motions, for something to want
Memorized Medusa’s feet, and my neck is at odds
Alleged moments, you put me through in the dark
Memory wash, collective dullness, deafness and sob
Took years to look at you in the eye, and your tear ducts
The only thing set in stone was the mountain between us
Consider the fact, we’re considering redacting
What’s upsetting to me, isn’t your lack of attention
You could whisper sweet nothings, molasses infested
But that wouldn’t matter. Instead it’s your ignorance
Your pallid irreverence against my calloused dejection
Your beg-to-differs, go-figures, your knack for these idioms
Perhaps, it’s your undercut mouthing of idiot
The teeth grind to the bone you experience
Perhaps, it’s that motherfucking tone it’s delivered in
Your no-holds-barred in, your zone defense, the hole in my heart
Crayola waxy pastels, bargain wine, oily art
Watery eyes and no control is as close to oblivion
As broken hearts, ashtray and continued bewilderment
Embark through the shadow, the only thing keeping me going
Apart from fleeting emotion, is gravity from this black hole
Swear to God I got a disease in my bones
Called Squeezing inanimate objects and pretending it’s your palm
They say deceit can be told from your eyes
But my God, the green in them brings me closer to God
I just want to be normal. I want to be calm
What bothers me is you couldn’t be honest
Wallowing like Diogenes as a prophet
Covering half-truths, misinformative topics
Performative love. Banker turned art major
Sharp razor, Broadway liberal con finagle
How are you able?
To resort to untrue resourcefulness
Now all of a sudden you’re super conservative?
Save it.

The Existential Crisis of Kissing Your Iris: A Poem of Obsession and Delusion

They’re psychoanalyzing my pride.
I’m ignoring the obvious: a war vet with ear plugs on the fourth of July.
You’re that pyrotechnic glow on my mind.
This memoir is a token of antisocial expression.
Our vermilion bond was anecdotal at best, demoralizing.
You’ll only ever see it as a victimless crime.
siphoning bits and pieces of our symphony’s chime
Sitting in my oval office with petitions to sign
writhing in inconsistency not filling in shoes fit to size.
Concealing true identities, revealing my shrine
The answer is rhetorical, when I ask who am I?
Enough of the superstition.
My existential crisis is to feel like I kiss your iris every time I blink your eyelids.

Alma’s Lament: A Poem of Sorrow and Beauty


…over a quarter of my sentences begin with ellipses.
the objective’s to sigh. the intent it carries? illicit
malicious design leaves my lips but ends so benign.
there isn’t a problem when it rains- you couldn’t tell that I cried.
it becomes complicated to explain- when it wells in my eye.
he pretends that he’s not, even though he bottles up the pain.
locks it in a cage, then polishes his crooked crown.
used to looking down, when things aren’t looking up.
one day Life’ll flash before my eyes.
not sure if that flash is good enough.
been given a gift to scribe every moment as happened.
with more details. more girth, more exposure, and factors
mere fractions of seconds, become volume series.
weeks of dejection becomes your life’s communal theory.
consummate. times snapped. here’s a problem that i had.
what are words from wise men, when philosophers die sad?
to my own respite, id serve up a bourbon with sprite.
words became blurry and slurred overnight.
friends displayed worry. what’s that term to describe?
oh right, now.
circle of life. how funny. it hurts when I bite down.
I’d go in my journal and write thousands of wordy delights.
to make sense of what happened, to an essay tore up outta spite.
inherited words. characters without a character’s worth
how embarrassing to have to establish, what to others- barely needs words.
parameters towards my dignity gave an insatiable thirst.
lessons invaluably learned through every varying turn.
maneuver like van Gogh’s Jupiter through mercurial etching
to live frozen as a painter- in the world’s most peculiar settings
to see beauty in carnage, objectify tragedy as a series of concepts.
rather than unfurling tempers flaring from a deity’s context.
I hope my eulogy is written in blood. life romanticizes the beast.
computerize all of my content. analyzing complete
molecules in your garden, fantasize Mon Cheri.
sift through the nucleus’ car-wreck. make a wish.
I’m asleep.

Strawberry Stains and Devil Horns: A Poem of Paradoxical Love

inept, and upset, it’s like nothing is mentioned.
lifes a run on sentence, interconnecting.
eclectic, electric, im a plug in the wall.
a bit so perplexive. spot the occult in the psalms.
the rejection. a song in the hall of this crazy asylum
straitjacket is off, but I still feel like i’m
abstaining. no hiding. not restrained or assigning
what’s a goon to a goblin–12 noon to this bondage?
shouts weaken as I interrupt the connection.
been seasons since I slept at the suns’ dusky consent
grayscale cuts. as lovely as ever
It’s only fear if we love to project it
i’ve learned to accept it, in a functional sense
inflections infecting, it’s so fucking intense
influx of attention. but none to respect
found you by searchingyour pendant glow in the dark on your neck
defunct. so abrupt, you can barely hear it
footsteps like eruptions, each thud becomes searing
unbarring. unnerving, like mummies in pyramids
test love like currents, to conduct an experiment
shave off bucks antlers, concoct my lovers potion in dye
appearing like, serum – you took most of in stride
the locust–conniving, it’s always close to
my spine
blowing smog in my airways like covid arrived
halo spinning on her devil horns, soaking in pride.
denoting my time- unhook your brassiere

absolutely no focus adhered
from shifting gears in a war, now the coast has been cleared
she rode clean on her own horse, barefooted and gorgeous
you read me through your code words:

no feeling remorse
like a fleeting emotion, cleave through divorcing
she march to the beat of her own drums. cheeks are like porcelain
its by gods grace- strawberry-stained bleeding disorder.

the heart beating endorphins
let’s ease up and leave one weekend in greece, white villa is all that we need
cherry stem in her teeth. counting twenty sheeplings to sleep
night time plagued by beehives and wasps, in a treetop that’s neither streamlined nor warped
pero no te preocupas mi amor-
in the morning they’ll be more breezy seaside to waft
sea salt aroma, as sweet as its strong
no siege of despondence, no seething dissolving
just me, and you as a darling, me being charming,

meeting you with resolve
so gather the sky clouds, chain the puzzle piece to my heart
my chéri amor, don’t wait till this dies down
permanent spring, summer breeze, no winter allowed
went from counting to three to running out of fingers to count

i’m sorry

Palindrome Love: A Poem of Reversal and Regret

my inner voice. bragging and shy. so very coy
abruptly impassioned in its perilous joy
panicking. sulking.
abdicate holiness.
i salivate at the thought of having you hold me
heartbeat in my abdomen slowing
rapid eye movement. palindrome dreaming
what is the meaning?
we battle of the Alamo’ed the last of mohicans
i lament having spoken, “i love you and mean it”
there wasn’t any valid attempt to salvage our dreaming
no valiant feature. no heroine vouching for
just palindrome sequence. folklore and pretense
commodore drowning with his diamond princess and dreadnought boat
Goliath’s visage over david’s corpse and slingshot stones
a picture worth a thousand words, abstract distortion
how happy id be, if i didn’t have to be coping
passive aggressive when I’m manipulating my prose
this vacuum of time. pen inking words to expose
an odd inquisition to want composition to rot and erode
despondent, disposed. shook like bouts of epilepsy
loathe that i have to remind you to remember me
never felt as close to you, until you were leaving
no country for my old man left me in a state of bereavement
tired of this. esophagus, loaded with words
that’ll never break light or get its attention deserved
the most painful thing i did was losing myself
my memoir of dark thoughts steadily creep off the shelf
over saturated with half-love, masked-up infatuation
I’m so exposed night time my heart wakes me up
it asks me what happened with so and so
i don’t know. please, heart

don’t ask me again.

Orwellian Glass House: A Short-Story about Despair, Redemption, and Hope.

My shoulder blades’ girth played the role of a harbinger
As bony as I got; the more I saw myself as a skeleton
Malnourished, malevolent, maladjusted malaise
Mocking in malformed metaphors to try to explain
There’s a concession of an all-dead jury saying my name
A prosecutor in a straitjacket who thinks I’m insane
Hazy weekends- labored breathing, eyes barely widened
Glassy-eyed, with no boundaries heightened.
Fantasize the database, sharing data with the
Armed and dangerous, highly contagious alien race.
Every door saying push but being tailored to pull
Judges with mallets in the same shape of my skull
I throw stones in a glass house daily
Pantomime as a cat and mouse flailing
A bone to pick because these past lives failed me.
Bloodsucker, with a lost childhood and adult haven
A gun runner, that touches base with the unrelated
Inundated safe spaces of every other generation
Heartbreakers are misplaced trust stations.
Mass murdering and love laden
Sputtered out a quarter, and meant less of your words lately
You fucking half-murmured anything worth saying
Innate phrasing and a caprice crisis
Blinking twice, as a signal to police snipers
I’ve gotten anxious, because I’ve told you I’m not anxious
For that I got chasers and glasses for my motherfucking shot-takers
Calm-nerved and for-God-saken
Modded sign language, for up-and-comers with violations
Every moment spent sober – a cry out for help
Tullamore on the shelf
Books in the wine cellar
Spending most of his life wishing I’d try better
Heart of a lion, mouth of a sinner
There’s something so dystopian about 19.84 oz. of liquor
May my last words be half-slurred and cathartic
Judy’s favorite blue jeans stained with tear drops and saliva
My intervention will be besmirched within silence

July 19th – Corrosion in Armor: How I Survived the Wolf Inside Me

He’s Unsorted. Unabashed. Formal with his emotions. Unashamed. Vulnerable worn as a sash on thunderous days. Sport a badge of honor stained with the blood of Cain. What’s her name? Love lost. Lust loves to come in gangs. My father never asked if I’m okay. He told me he forgave me for what we brought, but he’ll never say. (Sorry). When I’m in pain, my language crosses barriers all the same. Rain forest. Brain blots. Lost in my badge of honor. Should I say, I’m sorry? I’m not to blame.

Fuck that motherfucker

Fuck that motherfucker

Fuck it. Flames.

Distraught and caught in daze. There are days I question, am I supposed to be gone? Hoping to holy father that I’m totally wrong. Rotary dial. Noticeable drama. Rusty robot. Corrosion in armor. Lunch with locusts. Emotional trauma. Bandages with no adhesive falling off of my stitches. I’m more than enraged, I’m sort of conflicted. Sort of insane. Hold me no longer. Aborting the mission. There are holy ghosts that I pray to. Prayers vanish. Displaced. I read Nietzsche and questioned myself. I read what she wrote me—- answer to questions dispelled. There’s a wolf inside you, with a sheep in its teeth. What’s yours will find you, and crush you to pieces. Find your heart indiscreetly, whispering that I love you. Distilled inner feelings. Take a shot of me and consume. Sometimes I want to be lowered inside a grave. Mausoleum adventures. Nausea and deflection. Hardly seen. I surrender, any parts of me I dismember. I believe God isn’t God if he’s hiding his face. Don’t deny me my faith. Close thy eyes then, sleep till forever. Crying in shapes. Not circles and ovals, more jagged edges and blades that scrape down my cheek bones when they fall into place. Tears become blood. Blood becomes rage. It’s what we sign our names in when we scream out our names when I’m inside of you, inside of your brain. Eye stare psychosomatic, why are we strange? Lie there so damaged, why do you push me away when I just want to stay? Why do I stay when there’s blood on my face? A lion pawing away flies that nick at the scrapes, blood on my hands, nothing to say, asking if someone else wants to dance in my place, Bach’s Chaconne, slow waltz into grace, I’ve had it to here, I’ve had it to space, satellite metal floating till it touches something to change, engaging in societal rituals just to escape, Jupiter ring hula hoop interlaced, interlaced, “Pale Fire” on the coffee table as Blade Runner plays, hiking alone up Olympus with a cane in my fist, never without format, never existed, a whisper that’ll forever persist

The Dark Crush: A Poem of Contradiction and Obsession

He’s sitting in his shadow, 
match lit,
iron sight shifting with his arrow.
Da Vinci with a trebuchet, 
resentment at a younger age.
Don’t think I’ve ever fucking been the same.
Stay still please, so I don’t have to ever aim.
Heartbeat on my cabernet, gospel on the interlude.
Never into hurting you, but that’s probably hurting you.
Want to hear you love me, but that’s my crawling incertitude.
I’m sorry, you’ve heard it… too… many times.
Loose lips sink ships on the New Delhi line.
Blueberry, thyme, Seattle fog on the Bloomsbury dime.
Anxiety finds a new adversary for you every time.
Kavinsky playing Nightcall, 
nightfall addict. Gun-slinging, moonlight absorber.
Eyeball static, upbringing made me too primed for torture.
Leukocyte warlord with a do-or-die sword code.
DNA punching out Morse, ’cause the nuclei’s disordered.
Sobering negative, gripping a metal shank alloy.
Overly sensitive programming on this self-aware android.
Therapists that call me the armchair nutcase.
Trying to turn back to bugged versions of his software update.
I stop to stare into your eyes, perfect oval-shaped opals, like Russian dolls holding more jewels in them like an enigmatic invention.
A hundred soft, hazel static connections, like joules that gather intent, that teach me there aren’t lessons in every traumatic event.

Boys Don’t Cry: The Paradox of the Wolf and the Sheep

Over evolving.
Dopamine soberly blossoms
Noted and jotted in, like an old scripture
Bludgeoning forecast, people make what they want of him
Hold whispers. Cold shivers. So obviously rigged
Language is bothering. Thunderstorm on the brink
On the cusp of oblivion, and never stopping to think
Or wonder, what wanderlust awaits Waverly love
Dozens foreshadowing. Waving red flags like the waging of war
Barefooted resolve. Homosapien scourge
Black pen granule dissolving.
Technicolor gradient torch
Collateral damage. Animal bondage
Lion with his crown of thorns and his lioness hostage
I knew you didn’t love me and it wasn’t a matter of knowledge
It was a matter of topics. You never mentioned before
Casualty tally at the head of the door
Lamb’s blood painting a story nobody knows that goes on
Anxiety outbreaks – three centuries long
He’s so twisted. He’s so rigid.
Never distraught
He stares tacitly at the ceiling while embellishing God
with his headstone reading “I wish you death. Rest in pieces, amor.”
He’s concerned he’s never understood;
Stained by indelible scars
A felon with no parole riding shotgun patrolling in cars
He tosses his palms up in a garden.
A prayer to Ra
Eric Garner’s spirit harnessed when he tries to relay all his thoughts
only to shoulder the weight that buries him all
Bury him. Fall.
Now look at the sowing you reap
He’s a cannibal wolf in a room full of sheep
Thinking how wonderful it’d be if you’d change for me
Self-awareness comes with a cost:
Reality, unlighted tunnels, perilous concepts
Self-destructive. Unhealthy bargaining chips
biting down on stupefaction.
Nothing exists
It’s unrelated. I lick my tongue.
Getting me off
Symphonic bass.
Sweat bead reservoir.
Fucking me raw
We fall asleep.
Counting me, after my unconditional teaching
Teeth in you. Swearing I fucking need it.
Barely breathing.
Rib cage fluctuation, sepia pause.
Throat curvature, palms.
Fixed to your arched spine.
Getting involved.
Brain emitting July’s bohemian sprawl
Reading her body.
Handprint stories on your thigh and neck.
Finger tracing in half speed, panting four times a second.
Close your eyes, heighten senses.
Wavering boomerang into unconsciousness.
I call it gigawattage catharsis.
Purge you of any worldly distress.
Whirl on your neck.
Middle finger dug into your nape.
Mine for the time being. Set sail in your lake.
Want to escape, fall into you & dissuade.
Half-life with a half life. Don’t let me decay.
Knowing that we’ll never look at each other the same.
There’s a parrot on my shoulder that already knows what I’ll say.

Pigment Alignment: A Celebration of Our Colors

It’s almost time for a confessional. Let’s bathe our feet while we dance
Sediment wash.
Baptism in the chemical sand
Trekking through the barriers that barely stand
In touch with invariance.
Writing love letters.
Barely legible; sun setters
Cantaloupe sky. Dusk settles.
What’s warm love in November?
It’s cranberry cheeks.
Your tongue tingling. Teeth
Surrendering ourselves to eruption. Lungs blistering. Freeze
I’ve talked to God on occasion.
Mentioned Mary and Seph’
Carried a mountain on my shoulders through a valley of death
I’ve longed for delay.
Had a walk through Nirvana
Hoisted a banner reading ‘I want to be craved’
We just want to be loved.
We just want to partake.
On a trotting that doesn’t involve being numb
Noticed your aura carrying breath of life to grave diggers
Make their shovels change to pens like shape shifters
Paint pictures. Plant seeds that proceed to outwait winter
Gasp. Breathe. Then watch spring make way
That was a metaphor for how fruitful you are When I think of kissing you, my Fitbit thinks I’m working out And when I talked to you
My Fitbit said my heart rate slowed down That’s just testament to how you slow time down
And it works out.
Want to spend time with.
Let’s cascade, the sky, rip.
Over to Your face visage.
That’s engraved under eyelids

To my future lover.
I’ll consume you like no other
Keep you fluttered. Keep you covered.
With an influx of these crimson colored kisses
Mission: smother. Mission: touch her… Heart, create a spark that dwells deep within ventricle walls.
Imagining ember blaze, rinsed with a dab of my tender gaze
Create mendable art.
Candlelit wicking flame
Absolutely delicate. Trapping in shadow
Everything’s past tense.
Everything matters
Speaking weakly under covers. Cheeks in blush
Proceed to hush the noise. Drown the sound. Unsheathe the void
Asleep we touch. Wake up.
Innocent eyes. Glistening. Tithe.
As morning UV bathes our skin with its dye Remember this line;
we could drift forever without an anchor
Pigment alignment.
So fluid. Our loose lips could sink battle tankers.
Finger paint on each other within our silence