I Miss Her

It’s red wine nights or an absence of fully blossomed beatitude. It’s frequent pondering of one day realities and making them come true, me and you. And, it’s all about the when and why because I’ll have the how and what down pat. I will softly and soundly sift through the shit-heads that use me […]

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It’s red wine nights or an absence of fully blossomed beatitude.

It’s frequent pondering of one day realities and making them come true, me and you.

 

 

I promise to sort through the kinks in my life,

projecting nothing nothin short of lovely feelings into your irreproachable, far-reaching, magnificent

mind.

..

They say only make love to one’s wife,

Yet in my opinion, there is much more to living out life and love than sexual exclusivity.

In fact, it is about the heart and heart only.

And, if yours doesn’t race like an iambic amphetamine suburban teenagers once did,

I don’t want you around forever.

To me, and maybe to a few others, monogamy is as limiting as the promises of a beautiful sunrise during my suicidal nineteenth year, during which I was way worse off more frequently than I ever admitted.

Why? Because.

Because it is all too filled with ever so broken, yet not entirely impossible, promises.

At this point, I’d like to confess, that I will always be a mess.

But, I’m fine with them– my crooked dreams

and curiously juxtaposed halo-rings

surrounding imaginary supermassive star solar flares

Oh, how our bodies will vibrate harmoniously with laud and vivacity.

Moreover, if you don’t want candle lit lotion massages

And bubble baths after we fuck on the kitchen table,

just tell me.

I can easily run away to another lass with a fat ass in the meadow of blazing hearts that is the land of sweet, sweet love.

Quite frankly, she will be just as wonderful as you in some ways.

But in some respects, you will still be missed.

 

I

weird you say!
we are all weird.
isn’t it intriguing?

those oceanic, seismic, celestial eyes,
wow… their still the same.

i would like you to always know that,
in a skeptics world, I know
that you are everything, the whole of existence
to many, including me, so don’t go worrying
about if others think you are too peculiar.

are we not supposed
to expose others to comeliness,
to the divine variation
of persona that sums up
to the universe’s imagination.

II

speak gorgeousness into existence.
your chums will ponder for days,
your monumental, eloquent soliloquies
if you are heroic enough to share with them.
befriend yourself! embrace the muddled emotions.

say something beautiful again. those lovely,
innocent, puckish mavericks whom are your comrades

their dreams may be soon to disappear, leaving them burnt out,
leaving their lives a spiritually barren nightmare.

and, you… well, you’re astonishingly congenial and vivid,
the people, they age like a fine wine because of you.

really! judging form how inspiring you are,
i would be willing to bet my eternity,
that decades down the road,
your friends, still remembering you,
will look up at the stars and see you as a goddess,
exemplifying power and an irreproachable,
peerless, idiosyncratic love and social responsibility
that inspires life itself.

III

you inspire them because since they’ve met you,
your love lighted the way in a fashion
that a bazillion universes of stars and moons could not.

i appreciate you.  they appreciate you.
we appreciate you.  you are surreal
because we all spend time doubting
something so grand could ever exist,
but you’ve got it, that magical divine ardency.
i hope that you never forget to share
yourself with everyone. ranging from the sad stranger
whom you can breathe fire into the third eye of
the already happy friend whom you can bring with you
to even greater transcendent plane of elation.

Sonnet #19

I love myself for all that I’ve ever been.
I feel right with myself and mental health.
We all ascend our own mountain.
When I think of how I miss all of you…

All I want lately is you to come around
To lay under the hellfire heavens of greying skies
Of the highs that waltz into our everyday.

While we burn bright-hot, let’s melt
Every one’s icy misgivings until the mountains
Are submerged, the fires extinguished,

Surely, all that will be left is one enormous
             sea of love.
Let’s build bridges over teary-valleys.
To reckon a supreme state of Love…

Sonnet #18

To forget the sun and die by the moon….
The insides of my soul no longer bruised.

Freezing, wintry December evenings…
Cliche Oversoul dissolution.
Comfort the Goddesses and hug frowners.
Blithe spirits venture into the cold.

A chilling, breeze whispering Fuchsia!

Intrepid explorers exist perfectly
Kissing faces with a sweet, splendid smile.

Rise from infinities and dank skies…
Speak of tales so wondrous the coups just coo.
Oh, how they turn to dust in our hands
Like a sun from the heart of a wild lioness.

Sonnet #16

Pontificate endlessly about love.
For absolute beauty glistens in our cries.
Sunset-Surprise-Wildflower-Eyes,
Grace is to be received from up above.

Opiate thrills never beat out trills and glee.
Everyone knows of the trap of the billow.
Free your love by the variegated willow.
Hearts hanker for mistake.  Wishes are free.

Husbands entombed in a graveyard unjust.
In Culture We Trust?  Romance is just lust.
More breezy than wind’s kisses of rhyme,
Cosmic paintings line the fabric of time.

We poured our hearts out in suburban streets.
Our fits and tantrums: sound, soft, and eclectic.

Dear friends and family, greetings guys and dolls, salutations ghosts and ghouls,

Here’s to meadowlarks and lovers.
Lets’ set sail for somewhere special.

Lets’s stay up late
with the people
whom free our dreams
and fill our sails.

Life’s been pretty great for a while. But it went stale. My grandmother had a stroke. I have cried so much lately. I can’t stop sleeping either. What does one do when responsibilities touch down in a land of Godless ruins?

You see, I have hardly succeeded in Maths lately. I am not overtly challenged by the content; instead, I am growing up and hip to the fact that I feel pure quantities are all substance and no heart.

Numbers feel like bold black cryptograms of fleeting meaning. Where is the inherent pursuit of cosmic life in numbers? There isn’t… At least not really. It is assumed as associative and commutative. And, it saddens me.

I’ve been a student of Literature, which made me more thoughtful and community-oriented. Didn’t go to well to be honest. Something about excavating the throe and woahs of history ships me into maelstroms.

But, something is missing. Something deeply buried in my past…

Here I resonate, panicking at the juncture of academia and my twenty-three-years-old mind, I’m seriously considering calling my math-e-mu-cation quits and transferring into astrophysics. My love of empiricism and rigorous science.
I am no longer convinced anything bequeathes me bliss, or tranquility. The prior mentioned subjects are beautiful, yes. But I am slowly learning they are not my jam.

Truth is, I took part in a creative non-fiction seminar with aspiring scientists last year. If I make the transition, I want to design medicinal music production frequencies. And, broadcast them into the chaotic unknown.

However, I fear I do not find beauty in the breadth and depth of my very being when I study them. Stars are born with the wink of an eye and they disappear in the blink of an eye. I want to record it all–the destinations uncharted of civilizations past.

Who knows what we can discover? Who knows the beauty that lies in the depths of hidden Hubble realities? Maybe we go on to bio-medically engineer stars together? Either way… Either way, I have never been happier than when I was delighted the opportunity to talk physics with the Fam.

Hope you are all s’well and staying well.

All loom no gloom,

Sean

P.S. I think Giggly-Dads come from Colorado. Not necessarily. But also, they do sometimes, ya know.

Sonnet #10

Crying out for help, only to land in the arms
Of my girlfriend.  She is so swell, well, and sweet.
I think I love her but I tell no one.

The only direction to proceed is forwards.
How far I fell from grace.  There’s life to live
Though.  So I am going to keep smiling.

Drugs don’t excite me.  Meds do.  So does she.
There are few folks that bring more joy to me
Than she does.  That’s her middle name,,, Joy.

Somewhere between starstruck and beautiful
The crescent smiles keep on a’coming
Zoomed across America straight to her heart.

Now, I scribble sonnets in my notebook
About her.  And, I am real about it.