Why, when a baby cries,
we feel potential.
Like we know that his life
is the best its ever going to be
right now.
And we ponder telling them
that it only gets worse
but we stop short,
fearing maybe then he'll never stop.
But life does become better-- meaningful.
Sometimes.
However if when we are born
it is a marvelous accident,
then why do we scoff at oblivion.
Why do we strive to be more
than those who came before
and why the hell
are we concerned with disproving
heaven.
Why exactly can we find meaning
in a place that was formed out of chaos.
Why, when we see a baby laugh,
do we smile back.

Debating if their
Way of being in a relationship
Is correct; for common belief consisted
Of believing in
Love. Not simply discussing
The way it should be. If
We focus only on that, it
Seems we ask ourselves, if it even truly existed.

She says
“Yes.”
Vaguely apparent.
Tension tightly traverses
Through my body
“Yes, give me that”
Five dollars in a parking lot.
Teeth rotting.
Amber from thoughts long forgotten.

Five minutes for five dollars.

my love
i love the idea of you
love the way you hold yourself
when your talking to me
the way you lean close
the way you look into my eyes

i love the sense of you
as you fill up a room you have just walked into
with that joyful playful soul song gentle laugh you have
i love the way even the sound of your footsteps
makes my heart flutter

i love the idea of you
the way your hair is in the wind
the way you reach up with one hand and set
it softly back to perfection
the way your hair smells of strawberries when im holding you

i love the idea of you
in the rain you giggle as you hurry in heels
and how easy the warmth of your smile comes
to share itself with everyone around us
like you nourish the world with your sweet heart
the way you whisper to me when we have
made love and are drifting off to dreams

i love everything about the idea of you
and every day you show me
the reality of you is even more
i love you my love
i love you

Why can't I trust
That all you say is true.
I truly can't believe
That the truth could sound this good.
I hate the reservations I have
Toward those who have reservations
To see and feel my emotions.
Appointments with the person
Whose personality is not as personally oriented
As some would like it to be.
But don't assume you know me
Because assuming just creates types
Which I try to undo with these types
That I pour my soul into;
But they somehow only seem to fit perfectly
Under perfected soles of shoes.
And do not try to read between these lines
For I often do not foresee these foretelling's endings.
I perceive that under these pretenses
Which do seem to be a bit false
I may leave a conversation abruptly
Trying to preserve my reputation and not make this situation
Worse.