Before Mythology Gave Them Names




Classic love,
the eloquence of your freedom
echoes in the tailored sunlight
and finds me, catches me
in its unrestrained power
and carries me in its flow,
and with you occupying
the place in my body
that used to be hollow
next to my naked soul
I am a young river
and a mature flame,
imbued with a nature to reign
and take into me as much
beauty as I can hold
and give it back ten times
as satisfying to the senses

you are the love I remember,
the love I believed in,
the aesthetic
of your faithful evolving
unravels my muse and
fills up my darkness
with intricate visions
and enough passion to
keep the sky intact
and the oceans breathing

I am a change, a supernova
whose future is promised
with you leading me
by the hand,
blindfolded and trusting
and privy to all the miracles
that the world has never seen
and that are only now possible
because of the way
you look at me

deep and true, your touch
surrounds me like a waterfall
and all of reality is dreaming
it’s all been done before
but it’s always worth doing

“Wedding Day” by photographer Vadim Az


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From Dream to Reality and Back



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When I was far away from you
I was far away from myself
spaces between us
were themselves the hungry gaps
in my rhyme and reason
until our universes joined at the ends

and now I travel only inside you and
the endlessness of your love’s eloquence,
when you lose sight of me
you only have to turn the eye of faith
and I am closer than you think,
train rides and bus rides
and cruises and flights
the grand ceremonies crafted by destiny
to bind your life to mine
and all the languages and cultures
are our blessed saga’s many seasons,
jet lag only the bright daisies and
mimosa wine on our bedside

there’s a place in love’s time
where we are always together
and we are always loving,
and dreaming, and planning
for all the distances we will go
to touch the sun and evolve with the sea
where we can find all the love we’ve ever made
blending from one night to the next
like the colors on a wheel,
where I-miss-yous and the kisses that
punctuate the occasional dissonance
are the divine lanterns in our night sky
stretching across the breadth of time

where we exchange our insatiable wanderlust
for a home and a freedom in bliss,
where seismic shifts in angel time
are as inconsequential as soft rain
and can fit within the pattern
of green and gravity that leaves wear
repeating to eternity, only to begin again.

“Only You II” by photographer Isac Goulart


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The Waters of Shangri-La



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Here, it echoes
here, it falls

the blushing sky of
the saffron sunset,
the melody of
our first kiss, and
the incense of
memory, dancing
from room to room
as if without walls

how easy it’s been
to love you
how light the moments
like sculpted silence
smiles turn to days
turn to months
turn to shifts
in the seasons
you still give me butterflies
I’m still falling

and as I fall,
these are what I see:

the story of a shooting star,
Tuscan gold on crags
where rock embraces flame
tattooed with scent of wind,
late afternoons of adolescence
perpetually unfinished and
left behind unresolved,
the ghosts and dreams of
a heart many times
reincarnated, reduced
to faint humming, then,
further, to thin mist
on waves as they wash
on the shore and I
unravel as both woman
and a belatedly blooming

sitting at a coffee table
on a wooden deck overlooking
the waters of Shangri-La
and thinking
how like our love it is,
the way they fall towards
the end of the night.

And the moon shines on.
So do we.

“Andrea + Rob Fulton’s on the River Wedding”
by photographer Simply Jessie


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Jars of Lightning, Half Price


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I want to be the poem
that exhilarates the heart
greater than the bright lights
of Times Square.
I want to write the words
that are larger than the page.
I want to engineer the metaphor
that is bluer than any blue,
darker than insomnia.
I want to capture a love
more picturesque than a kiss
held painfully in a pose
with the Eiffel Tower
visible in the distance,
waiting for the camera click
waiting for post production
where an adjustment of filters
would render perfection
to a contrived moment.
I want the intensity
of a spontaneous embrace
that you can’t erase from memory.
I want to love the love
that a hundred years of spring
has never seen.
I want to pen the lines that turn
romance into a tangible thing
and creates a place where
the impossible can breathe.
I want to compose in my soul
a passion that blasphemes reason
and prove again that a new night
can be fashioned
from old verses,
that when the sun rises,
it might discover a sky,
a dance between orange and red
that it never expected to find.

“The Swing” by photographer Jason VanStry


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