In a world made for the throw-away

life

love

plastic anything

romance

friendship

god

…self

How can real love show its colours

of brilliant black, blue, red and gold?

The bruises and dents on the quest’s trail

and the blood bled from the freshly opened heart

can barely shine through the muddle

the muttering

the utter grossness of our need for something more to pitch.

The pliable heart with plastic implants placed by dense fingers with no dexterity just reaction

nearly made impossible to open.

Nearly patented to be perfectly beyond reach

and beyond the touch of real, sacred human love.

There’s a way to see it

there’s a way to be with it

there’s a way to look and love beyond it

there’s a way to penetrate the din within that all-too-sacred noise and static

created by a static life

with static means

running out of ground too quickly

…or not quickly enough.

Love, breathe the hot air of passion down my neck.

Let it run out onto my swollen chest

barely holding my bare, aching heart.

Whisper that it’s over those times of war within

and that you are here to stay

so long as I claim you, want you, breathe you, need you.

So long as I can stand to keep letting you in.

So long as you can stand my insatiability.

May the world cry rumble below

into the caverns of the depths of soul and heart

showing the cracks on the walls of the ache and the pain and the need for more, more, more…

love

synthesis not synthetic

surreal but real

To heal, to feel…to ask for the real, live, moving, passionate, messy, sacred, ultimate piece

driving onward, inward, upward and out

bringing us to that longed-for place of release

realizing we could have seen it, held it, had it all along

if we had just asked.

**