Love leaves a mark,
Not just the small marks of love down my body,
But a mark within everything for which I am a part.
Whether she stays with me until I leave this place,
Or departs from me before I transcend,
I will always find parts of her in life’s every surrounding- every small trend.
When the rain sets in, I am reminded of her love in the Spring.
Nights spent talking over every little memory and every upcoming thing.
Fixing our hearts in our chests,
While letting luck and the unknown figure out the rest.
As the world warms around me, as the grass turns to green,
I am reminded of the desperation for her love, the only thing I’ve known to need.
I will always be reminded of the soft songs she shared,
Their melodies always find a way back into my head- and I’ll keep them there,
Because when I think of them I am reminded of her.
And once I think of her, I am reminded of the sound of her heartbeat as I lay on her chest,
While we hold each other again and remember what it’s like to invest,
In another soul so deeply and so willingly.
By the new growth of spring, I am reminded of the rebirth of a love I cannot forget.
If again I am in her absence,
I know I’ll be hollowed by a lack of passion.
For only this love has ever shown it to my heart.
For when the days grow longer and the nights get warmer, I’ll always be reminded of her love in the Summer.
When I see fireflies in the summer air,
I am reminded of soft kisses in the summer night and the smell of her hair.
I am reminded of the words we exchanged over cups of coffee,
The way we led ourselves to be happy.
When the sun sets,
I am reminded of the life she breathed into me under the covers of our beds.
I am reminded of the touch of her skin,
And of the feeling of being so in love with another, I cannot find the words on my tongue to even begin,
To explain to her the burn I have within,
To see her smile because of me,
To give her every chance I can to be happy.
And once the leaves turn to orange, I am reminded of her love in the Fall.
The first time she kissed me those years ago,
And the way we held each other close,
As the nights got shorter and the wind got colder.
I was still whispering her name and wishing for no other.
No matter where I may be,
Her name will come off my tongue and echo up and down within me.
Like the fog on the quiet autumn nights,
It rolls across me gently and I will not resist it, I will not fight.
If she looks the other way, I’ll still remember the touch of her fingers,
Locked perfectly between mine- A feeling that always crept warmth up my body and softly lingered.
I’ll always remember the way she’d make me smile,
On the nights where I otherwise may have found myself walking alone in my head for miles.
I will remember the “I love you’s” in dark parking lots and during walks under the colored trees.
I will always remember the way she cried into me,
Or the way I would look at her across the room.
She will always be a magical wonder to me.
When the world turns white, I am reminded of her love in the Winter.
As the world seems to die around me, my love for her does not.
As the air chills over, a fire in my heart for her with my every thought.
I think of the movie nights with bodies curled into one another,
Or the quiet songs I’d write in secret about her.
I am reminded of the days spent with each other in brutal weather,
And of her smile the first time we put up Christmas lights together.
I am reminded of first conversations over cups of hot chocolate,
And of the feeling of her hands in my pockets.
Love leaves a mark,
In every season and on every surface of my heart.
Everything I do reminds me of this love,
Every sound I hear and sense thereof.
I find parts of her in everything surrounding,
Every small thought and every lovely thing.
Whether she stays with me until the end of my song,
Or strays from me before I am gone,
I will find a piece of her in every moment.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
Inaudible, inaudible,
Completely, unfortunately intolerable.
A disruption of said audio,
Has saddened us and all we know.
Pessimistic, pessimistic,
Completely, unfortunately pathetic.
Too bad for us,
We cannot resist it.
Inaudible, inaudible,
Disordered so very long ago.
Lugubrious, so spiritless,
We cannot be saved from this.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
I think today,
I'll cash out on a box of cigarettes-
To burn my lungs away-
A little thing to make me forget.
It's too bad that you love me,
For I've gone astray,
Maybe you'll see me,
On some other sad day.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
I am the sorry dog,
Chasing my own tail- a subject of quiet dialogue.
Like the fleas, I cannot shake away,
I cannot seem to shake her face.
I am her sorry dog with no passage of rite,
A tortured creature, though sad and polite.
Love is not for those who preach it,
But for those instead who burn and weep for it.
I am the sorry dog with no home to follow,
Just a broken heart within me,
Blackened and hollow.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
If we knew everything there is to know,
There would be no freedom, there would be no home.
For if we knew everything there is to know,
There would be no highs and there would be no lows.
Existence is in mystery.
If we knew everything there is to know,
There would be nothing at all- no concept to show.
Life itself would freeze in its place,
Meaning losing meaning as if lost in space.
Existence is in fear of the unknown.
For if we knew everything there is to know,
There would be no discipline and there would be no difference,
From "right" and "wrong" would come no divergence.
The universe is better undisputed,
Left with love and wonder,
To be unrefuted.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
At 11:11 she told me to make a wish,
So I wished for a little piece of heaven,
I wished for a chance in which,
I could hear all the stories that shine within her eyes,
And for the chance to move to the sky, beside a fresh sunrise.
And the on the second time she reminded me,
I wished just that she,
Would put my world in slow motion,
The way a dancer spins: with grace and beauty,
Filled with wonder, like the open ocean.
And as time passed again, I wished for a kiss.
To breathe in and feel the soft bliss,
Of what's becoming in the softest season.
So I cushion these words with starry wording,
And only hope that she will see my reason.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC
I creep away to the woods at night,
To hide myself from the burning bright-
Glare of the sun that reaches for me,
With intent to burn away any hope I foresee.
I know that if the woods may hold me,
With the sounds and echoes that lie beneath the trees,
Then I shall find serenity,
With the souls of all those who subsist free.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
I am paranoid, bound with fear,
Distraught at the idea of losing everyone I keep near.
My love is sad.
I write about it with ****** hands.
And I am mad,
Twisted and controlled by dreams of promised lands.
All love is sad.
Left behind like footprints in the sand.
Who's to say it's not so bad?
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
3 hands
kidding hands,
an autocorrection title,
was supposed to be
kissing hands but either works
man overcome with an elixir of Sunday bed warming/charming/chilling, lukewarm "hot" coffee,
melodious love songs inducing
languorously hand-to-mouth,
five finger fore play love making
a potpourri of knuckle gnawing and gentling kisses
upon a hand borrowed from the a tablet holder,
while she reads the paper bemoaning the sorry state
of the world, the government permissions bad guys...
and weeps for the world we are leaving behind
a mood changer with 100% effectiveness
newspapers- a safe *** condiment
think I'll reheat my coffee
<•>
my hand
she cant sleep knows that I'm up at 2:08am composing.
and showed her earlier today
the kidding hands poem
just as the lights were going down, downtown on
William's Measure For Measure
so at 2:09am her hand snakes over and wrap itself
around my thumb as if she was weaning an infant from
what infants like doing, or weaning grownup old men like me from doing at 2:09am, what they should be best leaving alone,
like writing poetry or it could just be the woman
pseudo-sucking a poets thumb as a way of saying
can't sleep head buzzing and in between I love the
livening lying of living with your hands thumb in me
<•>
the facement of your hands
dr. mandy is handy with a needling drink of boo boo bo-toxin
that auto corrects the face's reflecting times drawing upon it,
our bodies facement; an effacement I suppose, or maybe a
defacement.
very little to be done to keep the hands couture covering
from revealing what devolutionary year it is for you: why I write of the facement of your hands and why I kiss them, your hands,
lovingly, hoping the natural toxins on my lips can ****** their aging,
and if they can't, then it is a great way of saying
I love you
<•>
2:53am
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
I put my eyes in upside down today,
To see all the world in play.
To watch horizons slide and change,
A new view rather strange.
I put my hands on backwards today,
Even wrong, as you could say.
So that my palms are facing towards the sky,
All the worlds' secrets- mine to pry.
I put my spine in crooked today,
The pieces all astray,
So I know the feeling of panic,
As my structure falls away.
I put my eyes in upside down today,
To get another taste,
Of life for those who see in grey,
And feel pain day after day.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC