I fell in love with the way he keeps himself
so full, so sure, so arrogantly handsome yet so humbly beautiful

I fell inlove with him for all the times he stayed
through all the beating, through all the cheating,
through all the bad and good

I fell in love with his words
the way they roll out of his mouth through the clever words he speak and into my soul, he envelops me with every decibel he forms

I fell inlove with him, because he is true, because he is him

I fell in love with the way he looks at things that astound him,
the way the crease forms between his bushy brows,
you know he's thinking, you know he's about to say something
you know when he looks at you, so straight into your eyes you would think he has feelings for you,
so deep into me that the brilliant comeback I've thought of all of last night has crumbled and vanished only to be replaced by you

so then you caught me, words, out of breath, out of mind

you asked me, "what do you think?"

I thought, of how unpretentiously gorgeous you look
of the tax computation that made you question yourself, if u were in the right course
i thought of why you were so inlove with her,
I think of why I love him
but I think I'm in love with you

So I said, " I don't know"


eg

For if I told you that I love you
Anywhere but my poetry
It would give you the power
To walk away.
So for now I will write
'Til the pen falls from my hand.
Never not loving you
And never not denying it.

- p. winter

If God
is love
then I really
need to tell you
how intensely
I experience
God
when you're in
the room.

We were supposed to be art
Art in the form of beings
To see, to touch, to evolve with
From the waters, to art
Electricity & salt fueling us
It is all falling, slipping
We are to enchant one another
To feed off the energy produced
By the touch of two eyes
Staring at the moon
Drinking the Spanish wine
The words we speak
The lust that drives us during ***
It is all to have been art
They shoot each other,
Some hate one another,
Others are blinded by themselves
Do not disappear, great art
We are here in the gardens
Inside the paintings
All around the city glowing together
The voice of art is real but fading
Some pretend, no substance
No passion, no sensitivity to the energy
But here it is, a truth to be told
We are to be art, daily
In our sleep to create
In our actions to be alive
And in our minds to explore all worlds