I've known you for lifetimes.

We were Pharaohs and Kings

Servants and Slaves,

You've kissed my dirty forehead

With sun-stained lips

Exclaiming, Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens

We were Inventors,

Hungry and feverish.

We helped to create this

And we will surely watch it change

Colors like quiet laughing.

"We were Artists," you say,

"And Actors," I say.

And you smile like the movies,

But not like the movies

At all.

We have gone out kicking and screaming,

Stoic and silent.

We have lain in ashes

Inhaling each other and

Sending wishes to the wind:

I hope she reveals herself to me.

I hope we recognize our love.

I hope I find him. 

But my heart is a boomerang,

It always comes back to you.

She knelt before the

ocean and politely asked

if it could form a wave powerful

enough to wash away all her pain

but the ocean denied her request

because she too would drown

Later that evening she showed

up at my door with nothing more

than a four-leaf clover

begging me to use my

last bit of fairy dust

I did not know what darkness

lengthened her hours

All I knew was that her

lonely eyes displayed an

overwhelming urge

to escape reality

And so we did

little boy,

maybe ten,

summer camp,

backwoods,

the kind of place

where you wash

your own dishes,

and toilets,

and sweep,

everyone had a chore chart,

playground made by

weekend carpenters,

rusty nails exposed

in the ceiling

of the "fort,"

caught his hand

on one, sliced open,

patched it with

duck tape and toilet paper,

because he feared

asking for help

from the nurse.

hid the wound from adults

and told the other kids

it was just a scratch,

as an adult,

he did the same

with a spider bite,

ate a hole the size of a quarter,

in his arm,

hurt like hell,

scraped the dead flesh out

with a knife

and used mouthwash and vodka

to sanitize,

uncomfortable with doctors,

the method works

for the pain within too,

it hurts more

when left to fester,

but he can't understand

how to make himself

need assistance from people

who might not come

to his aid.

he fears,

that he's all callus now,

happy he ascended

beyond the reach of pain.