oh my baby,
lately I've been lost in your palms,
and the way we fill our lungs with the cold air inbetween us.
Vynls spin and sing and each song mimics the soft hum of our heartbeats intertwined and lost.
But what is love,
What is life,
If not an adventure to always be lost in?
What are your eyes,
What is your heart,
If not starlight gathered and shaped into a human being?
Like the clouds that roll across this Earth I am soft,
And just like the rain inside,
I will fall,
I will fall for you,
slow as the drizzle on Sundays,
But fast as the hail that soon follows,
And just like the earth the rain falls upon,
I will lie and wait in my free fall
until vines of green that hold a striking resemblance to your arms, catch me and keep me safe,
until the day I fall anew.

Stay in bed ma'u'ven,
Let me hold you in these sheets.
Allow your mind to drift away.
My arms will keep the morning at bay
and offer a small peace to the toils
occurring in your chest,
A hum, a touch, a second of bliss
will mark my attempt to fill a void
residing in the pocket of your lungs,
and in the buzz of our tongues.

My eyes will grow tired and worn from too many sleepless nights.
My senses will dull and my temper will become unpredictable.
But yet no matter how much of my body gives way to time,
my heart will always beat in time with your name.
With the drumming of your fingers against the steering wheel and the hum of your sigh.
For all will fade but you will stay soft and warm and won't allow time to give way to your bones.
You will stay human.
Time itself has wrapped itself around you
and is absolutely captivated by you, breathing only when you do,
and relishing in the sigh that escapes your lips.
You have the world at your fingertips.
The very essence of humanity,
every heartbeat,
every inhale and exhale is done in your name.
What will you do with me at your fingertips?
With the power to destroy me all together,
what will you do with my heart?

Dust mites and terabytes.
A simple recipe for humanities blights.
Thoughts form not into structures,
but paper you keep forgetting to take out of your pocket
when you throw your jeans into the dryer.
Flyers online consume our nation
as society mimics intimacy
through the twist and turns of an online server.
Just out of touch enough
to create the illusion of choice.
A high IQ regains the reality of vision
further blocked by the rose tinted glasses
hanging on the wall of every store.
What use is hiding behind a screen
when the only enamored party you have
is the one you've fabricated in your head.