dead hippies

Love is a bittersweet false prophet,
a two faced sacrosanct god,
an idol whose altar I worship at.

It’s aching, longing,
tearing apart heart strings,
eating up galaxies inside me.


I chase it down with a shot of vodka,
and pretend it’s burning can drown out my love.


I know it’s just a mix of chemicals.
Human euphoria with man made drugs.


Just my brain telling my heart to get really fucked up,
and oh how I do, over you.
(and I do it a lot.)


Love is a cult,
and I’m straight in the fucking middle of it,
open arms, chanting hippie mantras.


I’ll carve my heart into a mandala for you,
I’ll sow you a tapestry of my devotion.


I’m in an open field and
you are the meadow grass swallowing me up,
carry me away, enfold me in your arms.


I am a flower and you are the soil,
I bloom and you eat me up.


I can’t help it when I see you,
hands are always reaching, wanting, longing.


I have to stop my fingers from curling around yours,
or dragging across the curve of your cheek,
the hollow of your neck.


I have to stop my head from finding your shoulder,
my lips from parting for yours.


Love is a preacher,
and I am the congregation under his song.
Oh lord, how I pray.


Love is a siren,
and I am the ship of men,
Oh sea, drown me today.


Love is the fucking sun,
and I am the planet in it’s love struck cosmic embrace,
Oh gravity, take me away.


Love is longing, reaching, wanting
and fuck oh god, 
You don’t know how bad I want to.
You don’t know how bad I want you.

—  when I make you laugh it’s not like when I make other people laugh, because I don’t still hear their voice in my dreams for weeks. 

My love hit the road today to go ahead of me to our new home, Salt Lake City, Utah.
Only a few weeks until I join him but I already miss him like crazy.
Here is a shot of him making us some dinner on our last camping trip to Holcomb Valley
San Bernardino National Forest
May 24, 2017