Love Letter

I am too long without your affections, and given to weeping. I find no pleasure in dining, nor drinking, nor smoking. I want only your honeyed voice and calloused hands to sustain me. I am yours and will not waver. I count the days until we meet again, and sleep evades me. Comfort is lounging at your feet. I long for Sunday, my darling, when I will be once again in your embrace.

Hemingway

Trapped by wanderlust
Freed by words
Beard burning
White upon tanned
Skin scarred 
Ever searching 
For your lost nurse
Your pure first love
Now we feed 
Upon glances of
Your memories
Caught fading
In dusty mirrors

Plea

In sleep I beseech my kin
Guide me
You are my compass
Aboard this craft
Hold me
You are my comfort
Within this trial
Lead me
Onto sweeter plains
Heavy with hope
In sleep I find my succour
I exhume my nerve
I recover patience
And rise again
Dauntless, to sail on

Benevolence

Little bird trapped in tar
Sinks slowly
Wings buckling
Little lungs full of songs
Torn apart
Heart failing
Will benevolence reach her now?
Light burns her dying eyes
Too late, too late
Comes the cry
Little voice left to wait
Tune fading
Mind crumbling
Little bird caged in death
Feathers falling
Colours pitching
Will benevolence resurrect her?
Little bird deserts the sky
Too late, too late
Comes the cry

Destruction

Awake long before the first hint of dawn, she dreams loudly and brightly, drowning messy thoughts in a witch's brew of memory, hope, and words. Always words, spilling eagerly from her like so many lost laughs, fleeting glimpses of joy peeking awkwardly through the mist of pain. Always pain, pulsing recklessly through her, craving her destruction. Awake long after the last whisper of dusk, she scribes silently and swiftly, quelling urges for oblivion with each stanza, unruffled. She endures.

Melancholia

Melancholia, with its poison pen
Ambushes my idle mind
Pulling me into focus
On my faults, many and extreme

Melancholia, with its dead weight
Crushes my enervated body
Pushing me into retreat
From my form, monstrous and alien

Melancholia, with its wrenching howl
Floods my keen ears
Pressing me into silence
My own voice, grating and repugnant

Release

Unravelled by you
I am weightless
Soaring beyond sickness
You dazzle me
Not with your disheveled beauty
Not with false charm or empty promises
But with your warmth
And small kindnesses
And your caresses
Your molasses and pepper of a voice
That undoes me with two words

Untangled by you
I am tranquil
Flying beyond fear
You astonish me
Not with your devastating eyes
Not with flimsy charisma or grand gestures
But with your clemency
And sudden kisses 
And your passions
Your nectar and spice of a smile
That floors me with one glance

Uncaged by you
I am dauntless
Gliding beyond guilt
You enthrall me
Not with your rugged allure
Not with flashy toys or phony machismo
But with your tenderness
And morning chuckles
And your whispers
Your silk and steel of a hand
That captures me with no resistance