#moceanwrites

It was in the way you said: “Our love is so beautiful,” -and I forget the rest. The rest doesn’t matter. The rest is smoke and ashes, likes and follows, social media capital in a brittle world of crypto-currency and presidential dick measuring contests. It was in the way you made me realize that among all the dirt and smog and dirty neon lights, through words lost and forgotten, ties broken and disavowed, despite it all, something this beautiful can still exist. Every day. And it does, right here, right now, between you and I. We go on in this life scraping and scrubbing our way, all the while enduring, however painfully, as parts of ourselves become chipped away in the process. This world is cruel and harsh, there’s nothing new about that. We each have our share of misery, discomfort, tragedy, dismay, and each our own secret stash full of sources of sadness. Most of this life we go through alone or with people who only prove to be anyone other than who we think them to be. So no matter who we go through these experiences with, if they’re not here with us right now then we were more or less alone to begin with. But this is beautiful. No matter how broken, or sad, or angry, or upset, or -whatever. We find our way back, full circle. Full force. Full of this moment. In a world running short of time in constant anticipation of tomorrow, we live, breathe, and experience whatever there is to experience. I love you today, right now, in this moment, and as best as I can so that I never have to regret not having done so.

Closing our eyes to darkness does not make the darkness subside, it creates only more darkness. We forget that the earth must spin through the night before morning comes.

your body like a canvas

when my desert mouth crawled into your oasis, paradise purposely left ajar, offered gently its sweet honey and nectar and fruit, in that moment even mountains bowed to the valleys, the river commanded the storm, the tide pulled in the moon, the sun rose only when beckoned, and the mouth, a humble servant - a desert no more.

the parting of fingers or lips or legs or ways. everything with you a bittersweet tragedy.

one day i woke up alone, you weren't beside me and that's exactly when the war started. that's when the world collectively went to shit. and i can't tell you how many nights i spent thinking that maybe, just maybe, none of it would have happened if we stayed together. if we made it, like we promised. that maybe it was all a sign from the universe for us to make things better again. you see, the multiverse theory asserts that there are an infinite number of outcomes and universes for every action. maybe the external war is symbolic for the internal one we face. or maybe i'm just full of shit. or maybe i'm right. maybe in another universe, in another time, we stay together and the war never happens, and everything is good. or maybe 'we' never existed to begin with.

fold into me before you unfold into the day let me taste parts of you the sun does not reach

i loved her with texture with consistency pouring myself out in amounts i could not dream to measure or hold or fathom or encompass or give to another in a single lifetime. i could not feed a family but the feeling could make a nation feel full. if that makes sense. no. nothing makes sense in such a state. how can it? perhaps that is the point.