Becoming You

sometimes I wish
I could paint my feelings
like Picasso painted his portraits
inaccurate renditions of
something so beyond our reach
that mortal eyes falter
intricacies unbeknownst

to say “I love you”
would be an affront to the universe
for love, as a disarray of synapses
pales in the face of
the void of my feelings

a pull deeper than the tides,
a light, brighter than a harvest moon
a delicacy sweeter than honey;
reality infused with
more magic than witchcraft

days merge and blend
swirling into a steady lifetime
of morning smiles
and afternoon delights
your love, like a community garden
overflows with abundance
a cornucopia of simple being
upon which I gratefully feast

Apate

I somehow, know you better
Than I could ever know myself.
A lifetime of mundane wonder,
Lit up like a macabre circus.

The dramatic nature of your curves
Brought me close to the precipice
An ant inextricably drawn
To the sickly honey between your thighs.

Your lips were my heroin,
Your breasts my belladonna.
Your eyes, a mirror to my soul,
Your essence my nourishment.

I somehow knew you better
Than I could ever know myself.
A sweet agony of hidden meaning,
Forever about to crash ashore.

One hand clasped on your throat,
Another between your thighs,
A succubus in her element,
Ready to drag you into my abyss.

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