How do we speak
without making a sound?
Like a doe in the headlights
I look at you, stunned.
I flee at the crack
of a twig—
any man,
yet your gaze calls me to halt,
to revere your command.
Eyes open wide;
lips parted with awe.
Like seeing a ghost
I once knew but forgot.
…Who are you?
Your light shines upon me
like a mirror to my soul.
Your gaze holds the stars,
the sun, moon, and black holes.
Like I knew you before…
Before I was “me”.
Like I am puzzle
missing only one piece.
Like you are the lock
and I am the key.
Like we, amongst others,
will lead us to peace.
It aches me to say
I view the truth in your eyes—
Your pain and your laughter,
your hope and your lies.
The dreams you gave up on
are still so alive;
they’re not out of reach, Love,
for I have survived.
I’m back from the dead,
from the bowels of hell
and darling, I brought Heaven
back with me as well.
Trauma triggers erupt
yet you know what I need—
For you are the man,
whom has earned my esteem.
…Who are you?
I have crawled through the darkness
on my hands and my knees
but I found my salvation
within my beliefs,
by trusting my gut—
My ability to see.
By owning my story,
by saying “Yes, I’ve fucked up.
But I am still worthy—
Worthy of love.”
I’m not out of my mind,
though this world, it may be;
vibrations don’t lie,
it’s words that deceive.
And this world, it’s been lying
to you and to me.
Who are you, my Love?
Why can’t I un-see
your gaze in the distance
piercing through me?
Like Cupid’s sharp arrow,
I don’t want to pull out.
Did you jog past, looking back?
I must entertain doubt.
We kindle each other
each night
as we fall fast asleep.
Our legs intertwined;
chests synced as we breathe.
Conceived conversations
fill me with glee.
Who are you, my darling?
Why do you stand out?
In a world of all grey,
you’re the dawn of the sun.
You’re the gold in each fire,
the red in my blood;
the orange in the Harvest moon,
high above.
You are the guardian of
all physical beings—
My mirror, my Twin Flame;
while I guard the unseen.
You’re the hunter who stopped
to give his life to the buck.
You’re the lion, the wolf,
the dragon—the dove.
The hero that authors,
like me, write about.
…You are the one
I’ve been dreaming of.
I don’t know who you are
but I’m convinced you know me.
You’ve been watching for a while,
from a distance, it seems.
The clock, it is ticking,
the sun will soon rise.
Daybreak is dawning—
The unveiling of lies.
I don’t know who you are,
but I know it’s been tough.
I’m proud of you, sweetie,
look at how far you’ve come.
From the trenches of darkness:
Addiction, lies, and deceit,
to a man whom is worthy—
Worthy of me.
On this dark chilly night—
On the birth of Lord Christ,
with my Chanukah candle
flickering bright;
with the crescent and star
illuminating my sight,
I take solace in knowing
that we are the light—
A beacon of hope
for the lost ones to find.
Merry Christmas, my Love,
it’s but a matter of time
that the stars and the planets
are due to align;
that your lips and my lips
can’t fight this divide—
That our bodies and souls
are due to entwine.
Nothing can stop
what’s about to arrive,
so I raise up my glass
of spirit-free wine:
“Here’s to the saga
of twenty-twenty-five.
Bring on the storm,
it’s our time to shine.”
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