Unmeasured Words

My perception shapes your intentions and 
your attention evokes my affection. 
Shifting sands of impulse transform into rock hard emotions
no longer worn away by the falsities of uneven tempers. 
We are rooted in organic nature.

My heart breeds fruit that contains sustenance 
to keep this dream alive. 
We dance behind conspicuous lines but our lips never meet, 
although our minds collide with alchemic intensity:
always on the verge of something bigger than us, 
bigger than me.

Although I am taken by photography, 
pictures don’t incite me to the point of this revelry. 
I crave the muscle without the flesh; 
there’s no going deeper without depth. 
My lens stays focused on my tangible efforts:

To reach you, to read you. 

The fourth time’s a charm for a misconception so deeply rooted in scars 
and anguish and angst and aggressiveness 
that once had dominion over my consciousness. 
The bitter fruit of my heart is made nectarous 
by your loving hands. 

Since our form of communication is unspoken, but related, 

we make music that makes sense. 
Blues notes flow willingly from my soul to yours 
where they are translated into complicated melodies.
Untitled tracks float around us until we create the perfect beat. 

But until the point of acquiescence, 
my truth is quietly dissolved in this ink and through my hands. 
Cold and dark, I hold your shadow’s hand 
until I dare risk reality for a dream. 
Sparring with time and levels of comfort, 
my blues lay heavy on my shoulder; 
but such is the burden of being in love.