The lucky ones that have fallen in love will understand.

Love isn't fate,
it's chance.
So when you have that chance
dont waste a minute taking a
second glance.
Love is laying
in a twin size bed,
pouring sweat.
His smells like vanilla,
mine smells like death.
Love is standing
in front of a mirror,
shaving together
and admiring
the way his round face
is shaped.
Love is laughing
at the silly faces
that only he can make.
Love is swinging
beside him and momentarily
forgetting the mistakes
we both made.
Love is how
he knew something
was wrong just by
a simple sigh.
Love is the
soft kiss he'd
give while between
my thighs.
Love is when
he'd f**k me
so hard i'd fall
off the bed.
Love is being
comfortable with him
and his curly head.
Love is sunshine
that would illuminate
our intertwined hands.
Love is listening
when he tells me to go slower.
(I'll remember this even
when i'm much older.)
Love is still
waking up and reaching over
only to find an empty space,
even all these years later.
Love is knowing
the difference between
a poem and
just
remembering.

A dance
A game
this play
it has wide appeal
and a substantial
hatedom
Can see why
too much drama
that is yet too little
for some folk.

726

We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s Act—
And later—when we die—
A little Water supplicate—
Of fingers going by—

It intimates the finer want—
Whose adequate supply
Is that Great Water in the West—
Termed Immortality—

Arising to your fascinating persona,
Sleeping to your colossal heart,
Gasping frantically, to reach the surface,
Trapped underneath the coldest ice, in the widest river,
Shivers down my spine,
Pins and needles through my heart,
Consuming me with fear,
Scared of the rapture,
Inner interrogation of mind,
Acquainting myself of new horizons,
But remaining lonesome and fearful,
Crumbling when in your presence,
Listen to my penance,
Would you be attuned,
To my vulnerable aching heart?