.
How I wish I could lay my head
down gently on your thighs,
to make you moan and sigh aloud
and slowly close your eyes.

How I wish I could use my tongue
and give you more than rhyme,
to bring a flush up to your cheek,
of feelings beyond space and time.

How I wish that I could speak
in words of feathered certainty
and so entice your curious mind
to lay down with me for eternity.
.
.
© Pagan Paul (2017)

Time hasn't healed me of the pain
I will always remember his name

To feel close to him all I have now are his beautiful words
I imagine him saying them to me in a voice I once heard

He was all that I ever could or did want
Now lost to him my darkened eyes will forever haunt

He is still the music that plays ongoing in my heart
He awoken in me a melody before my love for him did start

I know he is lost to me but I still revisit him in my mind
I relive all the memories of us together all the time

I  try and remember our last conversation our last kiss
then wrap my arms around the air of emptiness

Time hasn't healed me of the pain
I will always remember his name

I guess its fair to say he will always remain my lethal dose
I will be forever chasing his ghost

To my friends
who can write
fresh-smelling
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.

Hope
Rises
Like
A
Phoenix
From
  The
Ashes
Of
Shattered
Dreams