For G

You stack paper like a rapper’s cliche,
Bound book and loose leaf completely covered
In dense deep dreams, like a burning bouquet
Of the future. They say you discovered
Some secret corridor to a place where
Poetry falls from the sky in torrents
While epiphanies dance like Fred Astaire.
Each wild wonderful word you write warrants
Careful consideration. Because you
Did discover the perfect poetic
Place. It’s all around us, you just cut through
The bullshit with razor-sharp aesthetic
     And expose all the wonder we forsake,
     ‘Cause you are the motherfucking CUPCAKE!

Test of Time

How will our passion stand the test of time?
Will you still want to rest your head on my
Chest and drift into a sleep so sublime
When you've woken so often to a sigh
Of contentment escaping from my lips?
Will we still roar and fuck and sway our way
Through our thousandth night just like when the tips
Of each others' fingers were an array
Of explorers, making maps of the sum
Total of the pleasure found in their quest?
I can't speak for the weeks and years to come,
Life's far too short to turn into a test.
     So take my hand and prepare to ignite.
     We are ready for the future tonight.