Atelier Flight

Broken Dreams

Posted on December 28, 2017

There is a wreath
of broken dreams
on her heart’s door.
You can knock,
but nobody’s home.

You Are My Favorite Holiday

Posted on December 21, 2017

You are my favorite holiday,

you make me feel

a festival of lights

when our lips spark together.

You light

the candles

at the red window of my heart,

behind the glowing window

a boy still smiles.

The depression

packed in my white bones

like snow

thaws at your warm fireplace touch.

You give me hope,

making me feel

that the resurrection of my saving grace

is near.

You are my favorite time off

with clothes off,

as my teeth meet

the cinnamon of your lower lip.

You are my favorite holiday.

Wild Freedom

Posted on December 13, 2017

Together,

on a shore of stars

with waves

from the dark universe

crashing against us,

we made promises

to each other.

We walked on sandy stars,

stepping on the edge of light,

staring into the sea of darkness,

feeling the currents spray

eternity on us as we kiss,

we watched comets leap like dolphins,

and the darkness sang like sirens,

we laid down on the shore,

with starlight dangling in your hair,

next to the howling abyss,

and I started kissing your body

while the darkness

enviously kept calling us.

When we left,

I took your favorite planetary seashell

so we could always listen to the echo

of that night and our words.

You wear it as a necklace now.

.

Our lives may not be perfect,

but we live for moments,

such as that night

when we acted young and reckless

and drove the universe

crazy with jealousy.

We live for the wild freedom

that we only find in each other.

Love My Goodbyes

Posted on December 12, 2017

I opened

the envelopes of my wrists

and pulled out two red letters

for you.

You always liked my love letters,

but my goodbye letters are better.

Do you see my heart pulse on the pages?

The pentameter of my heartbeat

exiting your mouth as you read.

The exhale of my breath

coming out of your mouth

as you recite my warm syllables.

You gift me immortality.

Need or Bleed?

Posted on December 9, 2017

You need me.
I bleed you.
When you understand the difference,
then you will understand my pain.

Will You Be My Runaway Muse?

Posted on December 8, 2017

I have two coins

behind my eyes,

mirrors I use to self-reflect,

I see runaway women

walking in the corridors

of my mind,

their feet blackened

with holy dirt

from the promised land,

they peel back my thoughts,

like skin from rotting apples,

smearing the dripping fruit,

on the walls of my brain,

painting dream murals.

I am a slave to my muses.

A head full of runaway women,

my madhouse dollhouse.

Let’s play.

Hey piano player,
I can hear you playing downstairs
as I sit in my naked room
in a state of tomb gloom.
Those notes press through the walls
and like wild flowers thrusting out
of white sand they bloom
into the other side, into my empty room.
They shuffle
through the old crackling paint
as if it was dry dirt and they rise.
I watch that exotic rain forest of notes
rush from the walls like a glowing green candle wax waterfall,
musical leaves splash out, press against, and become crushed onto the walls,
forming a boiling fresh layer
of whispering paint.
A color invisible, unseen to the eyes,
but not the ears.
The echoing paint drips
from the sizzling wax walls,
I look to the ground,
and I hear all my silent fears drowning in those smoking puddles of sound.
Hey piano player, I love you,
you heal me, you cure me
with the screaming magic from that musical rain forest,
its flaming leaves tingle through my ears
slowly growing inside of me like a shining new organ,
it takes up its own space,
an organ of
whistling flowers, roaring branches, singing petals, and ringing leaves
all curled up around my self-mourning heart,
constantly sending the illuminating sap and thundering dew of joy
to crash through the quiet painful darkness of my soul.
A flowery organ
which teaches me how to live,
burning away my fears and drying up my tears with its fiery pulse.
An organ which helps me laugh,
which constantly pumps calmness throughout my broken system.
.
Yes, today I am the happy man
that smells like smiles.
Just for a while I forget those fisted hands
which taught me
that laughing was a waste of time,
just for a while.

I Wish I Wrote You

Posted on November 28, 2017

I wish I wrote you.

The syllable count

of your facial features is perfect.

The way your hair flows rhymes

with your glances.

Your clothes fit

like tightly lined up stanzas

and when I read the words

with my lips

I find the meaning underneath.

I wish I wrote you,

but I am no such wordsmith.

I memorize you

so I can recite you whenever I want,

keeping you on my breath,

I always have your taste swirling in my mouth,

permeating my tongue.

When I pray

your lyrics

bleed into my words.

I speak with divinity

through you.

My City

Posted on November 26, 2017

I live life.

I hold my city’s hand,

embracing her imperfect culture

like she is the only one for me.

I kiss the scars

of the fractured streets on her body,

admiration creates traffic.

Her night sky hair

falls on the hills

of her shoulders,

She smiles,

her skyline shows,

buildings like teeth.

Her lower lip

an ocean swell,

her upper lip

an ocean wave.

I spend my summers

caught in her kisses,

at peace on the tongue

of her shore,

watching the sunset

and her lunar artistic community rise

and draw her lips up

into a grin.

I live my life

with my city.

Destiny Desert

Posted on November 24, 2017

I found the map

of my destiny in your eyes.

My lips become two wandering nomads,

which travel the golden sands

of your body,

leaving kisses like footprints

as they explore,

lips afire as they stroll

on the sizzling sands above your soul,

your skin burning hot,

each gravel of fiery dirt,

each one of your flaming pores

is like a shimmering star,

your body

a universe of these heavenly stars

twisted and fused together,

a holy celestial desert.

My vagabond lips stroll

on the golden sands

above your soul,

they want to drink from

the oasis of love,

which rests in your buried ghost.

Kisses become more passionate

as those drifters dressed in red

dig down to your soul.

I glance at your eyes,

the map glimmers back at me.

What can I do

to make you

understand

that your love is more to me

than golden sands?