We climb.

With lightened feet we tend,

To things of endless skies,

Fluently cajoling our wits and sanities,

To behold yet a brighter side,

The flank that swells just beyond the massif peak,

Upon which we not so long ago set our hearts astride,

The veritable reverie of unending bondage,

To be by the other’s passions,

Kept for life.

We float while our kindred souls graft and deftly hold,

To the ascent we chose to suffer blithely,

In the face of the unknown.

We drift within softly unspoken souls,

Abashed to doubt the other’s mind,

We find our simpler selves seduced,

By the fear of being left behind.

Fright of forgotten promises,

Blissful fantasies of eternal oneness,

Contritely laid to rest,

Delusions of duly outgrown dreams,

As damned as empty threats,

In our coldest nights left to equal rights,

Of fondly mourning mislaid time,

Lured and bemused,

Moved to tears by the once sublime.

What is the measure used to quantify,

The fullness of love between a man,

And his chosen mate,

Is it in time together we ante,

For that would certainly be of weight,

Or is it of selfless deed,

As that is the tangible gauge,

Even moving words,

And the sentiments they convey.

I’ve climbed to a height,

That has for a lifetime frightened me,

As my phobia manifest,

But in my current state I am fearless,

As if time has erased my memory,

Of all things limiting,

And instead limning,

Freedoms once locked up,

By puerile reckonings,

Baseless things,

That in my mind were well founded,

Confounding my motion

Confining me, completely.

The sun seemed to imitate the dance of summer wind, as it slid over you and cascaded like the waves over wandering curves and the streaks of silky black hair, tightly, but bountifully cascading away from your angelic face, as you exchanged your fragrant smile for coins of my adoration, collected and carried, even conveyed by way of caressing eyes that didn’t dare leave you, in expectation of sure fated rapture, if not of form, then certainly of your grace.

When I close my eyes to melody

you coax yourself into the space

there between two thirds

of all the eighth and quarter notes,

and there you are in yellow

lamplight showing me

your high, plumb pitched

cheekbones,

Listen heartily to the similitude of the plunging of imperceptible, arachnid feet; like eight fingers plodding the silken strings of cotton harpsichords strung high between branches that look down upon laugh lines floating on a bubbling spring.

I can interpret this bewitching with but words which roots spring from midway down a rabbit hole,

bespoken by the induced dialect of a pheromone that indicts my pathologically straight laced demeanor due to depictions that indicate the likelihood of my being high off of the whisper-light glow of her.

When you rise in the night,

Feeling isolated,

With no hint of my presence,

And no touch to lift the sediment,

Left over from stretched days,

That blend anxieties to craft,

Lonely nights,

Trust that I am stirring,

Awakened by your call,

As it rings out over starred skies,

Across oceans and lands,

It thunders in my ear’s aural heart,

What’s drum beats in cadences,

Falling close, then far apart,

A morse code of sorts,

That speaks in secret script,

In parched desperate lips,

Barely parsed to whisper,

Messages echoed for my ears,

A dandelion danced for me,

Wistfully upon the wind.

It took my thoughts hostage,

Adrift the current of a whim.

She lured my heart to a blissful calm,

That stole me away for quite a while,

Then promptly went on to play for me,

A ballet for pay in smiles.

My rolling brook, my stream,

Vine and perfect flower,

My rest and tender moment,

Rush and hastened hour.

My symphony, my chapel,

Pearl and lace,

My friend, guard,

And God gifted,

Splendid grace.

My peace, my fire,

Gift from above,

Pulse,

Treasure,

My forever love.

Allow me to be your pillow,

The cradle for your soul,

That place where you lay your head,

Where your tears and sorrows go,

Where your restless mind is still,

And your yearnings seem to slow.

Your lightness,

Playing upon,

My cheekbones,

Sending a tingling rush,

Laughing its way,

Right through me,

Contagiously,

Tickling, teasing,

Capturing me,

In the midst of loving us,

In the months surrounding,

This moment missed,

We lean one upon the other,

To passionately receive the epoch,

Hidden in the instance,

And all it has to give,

To press against each other,

And to love where time stands still,

This stolid gaze bears false witness,

To the whirl and strike,

That carves out recurring canyons,

Of silken stone pages in my mind,

Velvety pledges indelibly stamped,

Call it guileless silence,

A stubborn lover’s tacit plans,

Delicate, yet definite–molten iron brands,

Gently pressed onto lotus leaves,

Subliminally swung like anvils,

At the end of tai chi sleeves.

You are the current that cuts me,

Like blue waters slice granite cliffs.

You subdue and then take me,

Like morning wind borrows mist.

You are the sultry day that lures the fig,

And rings the currant out.

You unwrap me to the pulpy core,

That I bond about.

You are the arrow that pierces truly,

Without warning,

Swiftly through me,

My armor but a farce,

Quick to my essence, you plunge,

Flawless to your mark.

My perfect, yet ever improving love,

As prisms obsess over light.

Your existence is nourishment to my hope,

Reflections cast from your being,

Color and ignite my life,

As rainbows are due to rain,

As sunflower yearns for the sun,

Rising to it,

You define me to my very name.

You are my only true imperative,

My fulfillment, my taste,

My ambrosia and sweet nectar,

Sweet creme toned lovely skin,

Radiant and sugar glazed,

And when the moon falls,

As it surely will,

And the star,

That thaws our world to life,

But twinkles in the forever of yesterdays,

That dance behind sleeping eyes,

We will have been here.

Indelibly, our love will have colored,

A gray world greatly fallen,

A thousand lives before the breath of us,

We will have tread this liquid mass of stone,

Through its winters, gales and storms,

And remained through every short-lived epoch,

A steadfast soul of one.

A mythical passion,

Storied, and greater than the echoes,

That remain of lesser loves,

And until then,

Until the trumpets usher in the epic of,

those uncertain eternities,

that live beyond the sky,

Before all men and under God,

I will adore you through this life.

I want a country house in

the hills of Pasto,

surrounded by emerald green,

with chickens, two horses,

an outdoor shower,

and a hammock between two trees.

What I want could of course, be had here,

but the air wouldn’t feel the same,

and because I want to hold you under

a Colombian moon,

and watch you dance Bachata,

in the rain.