groundwork

deep conversations over coffee made just right. interpersonal synchronization. unplugged version of life. people who teach me something new. forever expanding my mind. take me on a mental trip.

Metaphorically Speaking

I'm not really here. I am physically, but metaphorically I’m not. I just exist sometimes. Occasionally I'm present, but the majority of the time, I am not. When you see my eyes drifting, I'm not wondering, I'm wandering. I'm seeking. I'm observing. I'm listening to the wind. I’m watching the leaves dance beautifully to it’s command. I'm grasping the moment of simplicity. I'm grasping time. I'm feeling everything. I'm understanding. I'm not here nor there, but elsewhere in between the metaphoric hologram.

lines

there are some people who will never understand my arrangement of words or why I write in the first place.

it is not to make sense of the world around me, but to make sense of the world inside of me. i am a whole universe, a collection of galaxies undiscovered.

to read what I write you have to rewire your brain to the interpret the language my heart speaks. 

principle

windswept hair, shirts not buttoned quite right, but i’m late for lunch so i don’t care. long nights and longer mornings with coffee made just right. cinnamon candles burning behind conversations about Plato’s divine madness. wine stained lips debating over Latin etymology, or computer code, or whatever comes to mind. i want to be so fucking exhausted from sheer knowledge...and enjoy every single minute of it. i want to be pretentious, and to be a mess because, why not?

Center Stage

I believe that the moon is different in each part of the world. I want to stalk the moon across every major city of every continent. I want to see how low it hangs over the busy streets of Tokyo. I want to see it eclipsed over the Grand Canyon. I want to see it play with the Northern Lights. I want to see a double moon from the ancient remains of Rome. I want to see it everywhere I can.

melody

the churches are burning, but I can hear the bells louder than ever before. i can feel the heat as it closes in. i’ve never seen a rage as soft as yours. the flames lick at my skin...but I lean into it. 

Exclusive

She unbuttons her blouse in morse code. She lets her hair down like leaves falling in an Autumn breeze. Beneath her layers you find lace and lines connected in puzzles that you still haven’t deciphered. Even the way she kisses is a mystery. You have yet to unlock her lips. And although her skin is familiar to your touch, what hides behind her eyes is foreign.

coffee thoughts #812

i want to wake up to the sound of an accordion playing through open windows on the quiet cobblestone streets of Venice. i want to walk the alleyways to a local coffee shop and order a chocolate biscotti. and as the night falls, i want to lay on the rooftop under the moonlight, and drink red wine while taking in the beauty of the starry night sky.

TIME

Imagine there is a bank that credits your account each morning with $86,400. Every evening, the bank deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use during the day.

What would you do?

Use every cent?

Of course you would. 

Each of us has such a bank.

Its name is TIME...

Every morning, it credits you with 86.400 seconds.
Every night, it writes off as a loss,
whatever of this you have failed to invest to a good purpose.

It carries over no balance.

It allows no overdraft.

Each day, it opens a new account for you.
Each night, it burns the remains of the day
If you fail to use the day’s deposits, the loss is yours...

You must live in the present

on today’s deposits.

The clock is running darling...

Make the most of today.

Everything is beautiful

I find everything beautiful…

Like two cars swapping lanes at the same time, or a winding trail of ants, the way leaves slowly dance as the breeze blows, the way a door creaks on its hinges when I slowly open it, or the the way sun rays fall perfectly onto the pages of my book through the window at 6:30 in the evening. 

my name

i never really liked

my name much

until i found out

what it tastes like

when you sigh it

into my

mouth...

the collection

There are a few people in my life, that I keep very close to my heart. I always make sure to keep one saved voicemail from these loved ones, so that if something ever happened 
to them, I would still have 
the sound of their voice
 to carry around with me
 in my pocket. 

Whenever I admit this to people, they laugh as if it’s 
a trivial thing to do,
 and then when what I’ve just said sinks in
 and their smile disappears, I can see my words reflect in their eyes.

"Oh," they respond. “I never thought 
to do that...”


I can see them trying to pull 
out the sound of their dad’s voice
 from the shelves of their memory,
 the words, “I’m proud of you, bud”
 playing over and over again in their head.

And that’s when I know, that the
 next time their loved one calls asking what
 time they’ll be home and fits in a quick
 "love you" before hanging up,
 they’ll think twice about
 pressing delete.

push replay...

curled up in your arms

hiding beneath the sheets

skin to skin for hours.

no need for words,

just forehead kisses

skipped heartbeats

your smile, then mine


your lips, then mine

like a movie...

push pause. push replay. 

head on your chest. 

the beat of your heart

and rhythmical breathing

quieted my every thought.

her

There’s oxygen all

around you and yet

you're still standing in

the middle of nowhere

struggling to breathe.

the story

her goosebumps were like braille,
and he read her everyday of his life
while others were blind to her story.

redoubtable

With the tongue of an angel,
and a body more than capable
of doing the devils work,
my soul contains
more than enough beauty
to comfort you for eternity. 

Detailed

She intoxicates him.
Her eyes indulge him
like champagne,
her lips burn
like brandy.
He gets high
off her attention.
If he’s not careful,
he may drown in
the thought of her. 

Lemon Yellow

light glowing through the curtains at as dawn breaks. confetti sprinkles. wind blown hair, brush it out of their face. slow breaths on a cliffside. feeling the sun on their skin, but it’s not overwhelming...it’s perfectly warm, and it feels like home. birthday parties and funny hats. silk ribbons. nightlights, fireflies and streetlamps. dancing in the street. the softest laughter. hope is the balance between light and darkness, and they know there is time enough for both.

one

I don’t know how or why

you feel so familiar to me.
How every smile,

and every whisper
makes me wonder

if I have known you before.

Familiarity.
It's beautiful. 

Maybe I have

loved you before,
in another time,
a different place,
in some other existence.

actualization

I don’t want
to look “pretty”.
I want to look
otherworldly,
mysterious,
witchy,
adventurous,
wickedly sensual,
and slightly threatening.

my favorite part

My favorite part is before it even starts.

That moment when

you don’t have them wrapped
around your body just yet,
but you can feel everything else,

their breath on your neck,
their whispers in your ear,

their hands exploring your skin,
electricity surging through your body,
the power in the small space where your lips should meet.

In a way, you don’t want to touch them at all...
because the tension between the both of you is too intimate,
too beautiful and so intense it's almost dangerous.

Like fire and gasoline. 

Watching them become thirsty for you,
as if they haven’t tasted you for days, is enticing. 

This is the moment

you feel the most wanted,
the most amazing, the sexiest.

This is the moment you feel like that woman you’ve seen in movies.

And finally...

when they can't hold out any longer,
and you feel them wrap themselves around you,

begging you please baby,

that's the moment when you know,
this night is going to change their perspective...forever.

redemption

I once was a man’s angel,

but failed to see the trident behind his back.


He stripped me of my halo,

and used it to tie my own hands above my head. 

His eyes glowed like a votive candle,

that promised me redemption.

God turned his back on me when I prayed for forgiveness.

So I moaned scriptures to the Devil,
as he confessed his sins between my thighs.

And I wondered if Mary ever felt a sacrament so sweet. 

Baptisms were made between our tongues,

and I pleaded with the Saints to give me strength,

but they all condemned me to Hell.


Damnation felt like heaven
when he pulled the rosary around my neck,

and I wanted to take him in me like the body and blood of Christ.


The holy communion never tasted as righteous as him, and I pleaded for the last time...

“forgive me Father for I have sinned”

but even Jesus knew I couldn’t be saved.


So he bent me over church pews,

and asked if I wanted to feel salvation.
I got down on my praying knees,

and begged him to make me unholy.

spilled thoughts #715

Sometimes I cannot write for fear of my embryonic thoughts spilling on to the page like roadkill. Raw and fragmented. Flesh sprawled out. Real and provocative, yet unfamiliar...