I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

19 years flowered
(hips and ******* dear)
i took from them
sugar
and
salt i
plucked from them
painfully
their ripe pink promise
i pulled and
dug from them
soft neon covers
i pried and pulled

i

soft savagely
tore into(them)
i took and broke you
carefully
                   i
broached you i
bruised you 19
cute years
i ran you
bleeding
   and gasping 19
white years
i coloured you
carefully
19 tidy years i
roughed you
sharply 19
touchedless years
in my hands
(i knew you)stinging

and

you
loved
it

For the first time in a long time,
I can say that I feel free from expectations,
free from limitations,
and myself.
I can feel the seasons changing,
and it's been a while since
I've seen the surface.
Felt the sun kiss my skin
and heard the wind whistle melodies
as it grazed my ears
on the way to the mountains.
The whole world is aching –
I know, but the rain never cared.
It reflects a time
when man was primal;
before he had a right to fear.
The rain whispers to me, 'I love you.'
I love you,
and I am not afraid.

Tonight is for the lonely people
With stale cigarettes on their lips
Watching the  world
With heavy eyelids

caramel macchiato flavored coffee with mint cigarette flavored kisses with your dreamboat lover is the quintessence of what i call "perfection".  if there was a way to describe the way your lips feel against mine, i could only describe it as "cigarettes and coffee".  cigarettes and coffee isn't simply consuming caffeine or inhaling tobacco in your lungs, it's sitting on the roof at 1 am looking at the stars with a blanket around the both of you.  it's laying in the grass with a slight breeze blowing making smoke rings between the arduous kisses.  it's simply sipping a vanilla latte on the corner of a new york city street with a cigarette in your hand, making swirls of smoke as more ash forms above the filter,  looking like some sort of bohemian gods. it's walking along a deserted sidewalk in your black jeans and doc martens with a big t-shirt and coke bottle sunglasses on with your lover on your hip and your menthol in one hand and philter in another.  "cigarettes and coffee" is whatever you can interpret as pure bliss; it's simply whatever makes you happy and whatever makes you want to sit in the grass all night and talk about anything and everything.  there's a lot of people that would argue there's no beauty to the feel of tobacco in your lungs and arabica in your mouth, but evidently, they've never tried cigarettes and coffee.

i never used to smoke
but since you left,
it’s the only time i can seem to breathe

the daydreams aren’t just daydreams anymore
i can get on the train whenever i’d like
the doors are wide open and waiting
for me to lie naked in the shifting light
of a four-story brooklyn walk-up
to fall asleep on a freckled chest
to run my fingers through fields of white sage
i am the opening iris
the floating dust that glimmers like crushed diamonds
the feathery eyelashes caught on eager fingers
i am the sunlight and the wind
intersecting across the gleaming reservoir
where the bluegills breathe underwater
where you and i dance gloriously on the surface
where we become carelessly entangled
before slipping underneath