Where are the love letters written by him during the wee hours of the morning with his mind slightly addled with alcohol that says he loved ******* her raw and he also loved her desperately?
Where are the love songs that were sappy but genuine and Ella Fitzgerald's voice that talked of dreaming and loving and living?
Where are the stolen kisses under trees and the flowers that wilted the next day and the girls giggling under blankets talking about fingers slipping under skirts and first times?
Lost. Gone. Probably forgotten.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
she liked
the idea of
being consumed
she sometimes dreamed of
being devoured
by the dark
and then she’d wake up
and realize
it wasn’t a
dream
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
the bittersweet taste
of a last kiss
will always be fresh on my lips
the press of mouth on mouth
the battling of tongues
using saliva and passion
to say goodbye
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
his scent
still lingers in
the deepest corners of
my mind and
sometimes i take it
out to smell it only
to realize
i smell nothing
because i couldn’t remember
anymore
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 5:15 AM UTC
an open book
on the desk
clothes strewn
across the floor
a fine layer of dust
covering the
surfaces
a bed not made
but made love in
this is our love nest
and we love
all day
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 5:13 AM UTC
the rain dances tonight
its soft legs gliding
through the night
and i dance with it
my skin wet
from its exuberance
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 5:12 AM UTC
she liked
the idea of
being consumed
she sometimes dreamed of
being devoured
by the dark
and then she’d wake up
and realize
it wasn’t a
dream
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 5:09 AM UTC
Our bodies were
intertwined
He held me close
It was getting late
I had to wake up
and leave
the empty bed
(I was late for work)
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 8:22 AM UTC
she liked
the idea of
being consumed
she sometimes dreamed of
being devoured
by the dark
and then she’d wake up
and realize
it wasn’t a
dream
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 8:21 AM UTC
We meet in the middle.
Always in the middle.
But this time.
You walk right out of the platform.
Onto the busy street.
And left me.
Standing in the middle.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 9:18 AM UTC