__________, I feel seismic waves when I look in your eyes as you survey the universe. Planets rattled from the vibrance of privilege, the chance to be reflected in the irises of a soul as beautiful as yours.

If the world was mine, I’d give if to you tied and bound, with my crisp red heart nestled tight in it’s clenched jaws. But I am nothing. And I have not.

Though I may have promised it, the world was never mine to give. I was just one of many lone islands, lucky enough to be inhabited by you while adrift on your journey to yourself. But even without me, you can still have it all.

So ________, if you wish, bathe in the moonglow. Dance in the sundrops. Tip toe cross the starlillies and run through the waterfalls of Intergalactica.

And no matter who you become, no matter what continents you grace on your quest of soul searching. Never doubt this, _______. When the next desolate isle promises you the world, know its a lie.

Because the world, it is yours…. For the taking.


Muse of Ages

This love will take years to process. I will be writing from my memory of you until my wrinkles are wrinkled and my impassioned youth only exists in washed out tees, faded movie tickets and old photographs of our loving each other.

On you I’ll waste much imagination and my very last wit’s end.

My muse of ages, you’ll be.

A writer’s greatest inspiration.

I’m just hoping… you’ll be present for the read aloud.

Sequestered Conclusions

Finally, I can behave badly without fear of your disapproving stare.

Finally, I can go where I want to go, do what I want to do, see who I want to see,
without the threat of it ending in a fight where you slam doors and I drink too much and go for a stagger down the alley and curse your name to the twinkling onlookers above.

I can finally eat what I want and leave the dishes in the sink for too long.
I can kick my socks off under the cover while Im sleeping.
I can wear my button ups to the top button without you accusing me of cheeseball tendencies.
I can roam the world without you telling me not to go out alone and being worried that I’ll be in danger or worse, that I’ll meet someone I like more than you.

Finally, I can do all these things and more. All these little battles I fought so hard against you for. But I haven’t won anything at all, really.

Because finally, all these hollow freedoms, I wish I could trade back in
for the one thing I’ve lost that can never be mine again.

Finally, I’m not afraid to miss your face, because it’s already faded.
I’m no longer afraid to lose you, because you’ve already gone.

I’ve been set free.

But though the chains have long since been broken, my blood is still pumped by an incarcerated heart.

These are my sequestered conclusions. Inglorious victories won in the carnage of love.

The Streets of Kowloon City

all is silent on the streets of Kowloon city, save for the dutiful click of a street light and the occasional taxi roar.

apparently it is 3am, though Circadia is telling me it is afternoon, the current time of the place I call home.

i am sitting on the curb near my hotel, alone, watching Hong Kong sleepily breath around me.

In the dead of night, i do not feel any threat to my person, and strangely, others roaming in the moonlight do not seem to either. No hurried strides or dicey glances to be seen in the several young women who’ve passed me by.

the smoldering heat of the day has dulled to an emphatic, pulse of warmth and wind

i watch gentlemen’s socks and lady trousers softly dance in the breeze floating by clothes lines, hung from the open windows of aged high rise apartments that disappear into the clouds.

perhaps a distant cousin of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg stares back at me from the signage of a beauty parlor across the street. It is observant and inconspicuous, like me. apart of the still and calm, quietly keeping watch over passersby. All seeing, all knowing.

though I may not be as discreet as supposed, as i notice an onlooker propped into an apartment window, peering down at me. An almost uncomfortable stare is exchanged, and I nod my head in greetings. No acknowledgement is returned, though he takes a long drag of a cigarette, exhales into the night sky, and gives me a tiny curl of a smile before disappearing back into the shadows.

his brief appearance intrigues my curiosity… I now wonder what hidden vibrance may lay behind these tiny apartment windows, glimpses into the authentic life of Hong Kong.

surveying the quiet mystery around me, I stay here for awhile. Hoping to soak up this moment for later reverie.

all is silent on the streets of Kowloon city, save for the dutiful click of a street light and the occasional taxi roar.

photo: Marlee Archer

Hypothetically, Of Course

Titillated and tantalized by your innate ability to hypnotize.
Love Jonesing and heart-beaten pandemonium does far from describe

The chaotic delight I feel when trapped in your eyes.
With you I feel I can lay down my guise,
dropping my mask and letting my fears subside.

June bugs, butterflies, a multitude of insects they do fly,
when your caress contacts the context of my spine or inner thighs.

I like you not just for the physical aspect like your cute nose and pearly smile.
But for your intrinsically stunning elements of which span so wide.

Inspired by euphoria, a new scheme I’ll artfully comprise.
Because on this cupid-struck, harp-spun connection I must capitalize.

My ultimate goal I know I’ll reach in time,
A way to keep you forever blissfully enamored, by my side.


Encroached Divinity

Oh, mama if you could see me now.

Blistered hands and soiled feet.

I keep backsliding down this one-way street,

But with eyes shielded and appearance neat.

I fear the unknown so I make the unknown familiar to me.

That’s why I let the smoldering ashes graze my cheek

And fly to close to burning suns.

Icarus drew to close to the light of the world and fell back to the ocean’s reproach

But to feel a singe of the supreme—to be scorched by the pure, to be acknowledged by the fundament— for mere seconds must have been worth the fall.

The feeling felt foreign,

But there was something in the glowing beacon of brown irises that called to me.

Like the winged god to his flame,

I had no choice, the urge had already made its claim.

And for an elated glimpse in a lifetime, whose remnants will last for such, I was that man flying high,

closer to the heat, closer to the ideal that countless lovers die dreaming of and hoping for.

So breathtaking that the tragic brevity was worth it all.

And now I take up a reinvigorated desperation to force the unknown to be familiar,

Out of terror that my luck will reach its posterior,

And reality will expose me as nothing more than a pawn daring with its last move …

before the inevitable fate of its predecessors.

Tired eyes and tempting thoughts of retreat,

I keep pumping the air back into my hearth to keep my spirit alive.

Oh mama, if you could see me now….

Daddy, if you could just see me.

I am flying high, searching for that fire again– Once found in another–but this time, in hopes of finding the light inside of me.



Deliberate misguidance.
As I am lost,
I am found.
As I wander,
I am discovered.
As I slip away,
I return to that which has been tucked beneath years of constructed individuation in hopes of acceptance and love.
As I roam the shadows, the buried parts of me,
I come closer to the light,
placing distance between my heart and fear.
And as I am further displaced from everything I’ve ever known,
I feel closer to home than I ever have.

Daily, I come closer to soulful exhumation.