the salty beads of sweat,

that sweet smell of fading lust,

and the only thing keeping me from holding on forever.

that sultry look in your eye when i returned you to dust

and the feel of your lips on the nape of my neck;

because you were the one that kept me together.

those are the things i hold close to my chest.

they are pieces of loves that i hadnt really felt,

of roads i had never dreamt of being taken,


and there are no more words left

only pulsing tokens…

When i think of your eyes

and how they sparkle with kindness,

i am reminded, gently,

that we are made

from star stuff.

no body thinks about us.

     they only care about what we puncture;

            the tasty meat, sweet fruit, and  the good intentions.

                      they never think of the sticky residue

                                                         left behind  

                                       and how we

                                                 will never be

                                           truly clean

                            again.

my eyes opened slowly

to see you sitting at the edge of the bed

the light hitting your back and creating ***** shadows

where your skin begged to be touched softly

gripped ardently, and kissed eagerly.

but i watched, silently as you moved

because i was so caught in the very

distant and beautiful thought of you.

bubbling underneath a smiling surface;

burning through my dimpled cheeks.

a feeling of frustration

unbreakable and deafening

making me see colors horridly beautiful

stealing the sleep from my eyes

and the quiet from my busy brain.

i hate this feeling,

this stagnant desperation.

its like a boulder breaking my spirit;

a red fashioned murderer of my inspiration.

In my wildest fantasies

you are moving inside of me

with pieces and portions of my liquid being

dying your appendages; expressing my completion.

your touch, unforgettable, and not at all withholding,

driving us forward and bringing us closer

to another beginning crashing into a fitting end

where i finally stop singing your praises

and we are just friends again.

i want you to leave tender marks on my cinnamon skin

i need to be sore; to be reminded of where you've been.

id like bite marks and scratches;

a little pain mixed with pleasure and as the plan unhatches

we’ll fall further down the hole to something perfectly devastating

a twisted Disney world that is more than wonderful and tainting

because your hands will make me give you all of me

and whomever walks by our door will know

that we were there, connecting through marrow,

creating magical violet colored memories.