2001-2013: Old OD entries

As much as I want to appease this desire, so do I also want to apologize for it – Is that love? I wonder. The lines my eyes trace around her face, at first gentle and loving, become heavy and lustful as they find her neck, yet even with no place else to go, both…

So much clearer do I hear the voice of one who hears my own, and see in my periphery the shape of whom I love the most.  

You sign your name for fear of being forgotten -- something akin to disappearing for even the strongest among us. And although I've always told you (with words) that words do not matter, I must concede that your name is now such a prominent and favorable entry in my thesaurus that losing it could...

Bliss like this is meant to leave you longing and doubting to the point that you’ll explode; you’re reeling from this feeling now, but I think there will never exist a cosmic force that would just let it last forever and ever… Love like this, its flame is always dying, inevitably programmed to im...

Like snow atop a mountain high of which you are the peak, where would I fall without you? Like a worker in a trail of ants of whom you are the queen, who would I be without you? Like cliches littering the anecdote to which you are the pith, what would I mean without you?…

There are skies within her perfect eyes (now cloudy, raining as she cries), but they'll not shine once for me. There is grace in each step of her gait (even wounded, as she falls), but she'll not move once to me. There is charm lining her slender arms (renewed, whenever she so chooses), but they'...

What winter shared is quite so cold as any winter borne alone? Nestled in each other’s arms, the wind that flays the back of one will flay the other not; and any cold inflicted will be nullified completely by the warmth found in this other’s eyes.

A single glint within your eye is spark enough to set alight both my eyes in turn – and forever they will burn.

Today is cold, and all that warms is you draped in an icy-blue losing limbs to this same frost. We waste not a breath on words, lest they prove to be our last; We release our passion sparingly, lest it lead to words. In an orthodox pose, we hold each other for the heat the sun denies…

We never picked them, you say, but look! Life is now the grapes beneath our feet, so what good can come of whining? Let's trudge instead 'til our feet are lead, then stop to drink for at least an hour; if eventually we need some bread, surely someone somewhere is milling flour...