  sometimes, one needs to separate between poetry and journal entries. (no title) Once, Love leaned over and kissed me on my burning forehead soothing its afflicted surface. Now I am lying i am dying slowly draining your salve absent from my brows you pool together your vocabulary and extract all words but love then lock it in a safe away from my prying fingers.
How can one fall out of love? The absense of the glint the soft curve around your eyes held in a photograph not so long ago now you stare at me as if to say I fooled you look, the camera plays tricks. Perhaps it was only the sheen of the lens reflecting off your contacts. But I recall how your mouth parted and the word came tumbling out of you like breathing making the day ours. I think sometimes you want to remember. I can see it come up in your throat your eyes and your chest look as though they want to burst with Love.
But then you swallow and it slides back down confined within a small blue capsule leaving me curious thinking about the reality projected behind photographs. 1.31.2001 
