dance is grandeur

Where the nocturnal
man goes
in
and
out
of his
endless, moon-drenched beach;
where violet-blue hues
crease the majestic sky,
this is where I
stand
and
believe that
dance is grandeur.

poetry pains

Yesterday,
we pierced those laughs
with warm throbs of worry
looking for something,
anything
to say.

Your poetry growls:
a wild belly hungry for words,
yet when the window opens,
they float out
to the night sky
in translucent smoke.

delicious was the language

Delicious
was the language
floating above
the cafe
amidst sights and sounds and smells.

Silences were unwanted
here
as the
words kissed my face,
my mouth,
my tongue.

It is beautiful.