The moon makes love to the ocean and in this holy conception it gives birth to a little tide.

Sometimes at night when the moon is almost full and my hands go numb from writing, I cleanse myself of her poisoned love. I welcome the water, the inevitability of death and embrace the long painful road out of love.

Blood and wine are interchangeable. Love and hate are unrecognizable. Sanity is no longer with me.

We learn that all life is scarce yet abundant. Profane yet sacred. Loving yet hateful. Enlightened yet obscured. Isolated yet collective. That life is somehow derived from love.

the heavens raped from our misuse of love

at night i loved her at night i waited under the tarp at night i watched her looking up at the stars dreaming of a better time to watch me

I want to towel off, leave my heart on this beach and walk the sand into a lake of stars, while never looking back.