The sweetest of words escape your lips and leave me breathless.
Butterflies flutter inside,
fill day dreams with your static covered voice,
So smooth and masculine.

Never have I been so drawn to the corners of another's mind,
wanting to fill myself into the creaks of your heartache.
I could heal you....
shower you in affection and adoration.

Your brilliance captivates me,
leaving me wanting more.
I'm to caught up in what ifs...
What lingers between that I can't confess,
is that I'm afraid,
I could get completely lost in you.

It was a lonely kind of smile

that painted my face

the moment you smiled at me

I hid my melancholy

—-

It was a lonely kind of smile

one without a trace

of any kind of glee

as you gaze at me

—-

It was a lonely kind of smile

before I looked away

Not minding your looks

So again I won’t be fooled

—-

It was a lonely kind of smile

and I start to think

Though I’ll never resist you

I’ll try my best to……

The sun was shinning so bright
bouncing off the green of the leaves all around me
All i could see was the blue of your eyes
All i could hear was you breathe

Emotions swirled around us, like a mini hurricane
The world going on around us was so far away
we ignored the storm clouds gathering at the sky line
For just that moment it was just you and I

That smile took my breath away every time I saw it
Your touch gave me butterflies dancing in a circle in my belly
We were so young, so passionate, so innocent our love
we were crazy about the sunshine.  about each other .

But just like every summer flower fades and gives way to fall leaves
our love faded as we grew and changed.. matured
And winter swept in with a fury of ice and snow
and it was over as quickly as it began
My heart was broken with the intensity of that first snow fall

In my mind these days I go back to that first moment
The years that have passed can't steal it from me
You were my first love, my dream come true
That summer is a dream I live over again...

He told me
to stop wearing makeup,
claimed
it was his job
to make me blush.
And i did.

Why do poets always talk about the ocean's waves,
about their single file march to shore,
and yet never talk about my grandmother's farts,
which arrive in time, one after the other, with equal
     regularity?

Are these poets too holy to comment on anything
less than nature's flashiest gestures?
Are we going to spend another millenia searching
for meaning in sunsets and waterfalls?

Or will we finally turn our ear to Grammy's ****
and away from all that pretty stuff,
and hear that foul, muted trumpet sing,
marking the end of an era?