The best mistake I made
Was believing
as a child
In the idyllic world
Of pixie dust strewn fairy tales
Laughing at the prospect
Of a strange world
Where happiness
Wasn't always there to stay
Where the triumph of good over evil
Didn't necessarily happened
Where those who professed
To love you dearly
Didn't always turned distant
Where sleeping beauties
Didn't always woke up
Where the shining sun
Didn't always warmed your frostbitten skin
Where a beating heart
Wasn't always a sign of life
Where being older
Didn't always meant
Being stronger
Where bruised knees and scarred wrists
Weren't always a consequence
of slipping on the stairs
Or tripping on the sidewalk
I happily believed
In a world
Which I realized
When I grew up
Could only exist
In the realms
Of my heartfelt dreams
But could never be real

We do not have yesterday
That time has flown quickly by
A random series of moments
Gone in the blink of an eye

Such a pretty collection
Of memories to recall
Captured in dusty images
Hung the length of the hall

Every one is slowly fading
Was that shirt red or blue
Life quietly seeping away
With their diminishing hue

We do not have tomorrow
That is not how this world works
The future is a distant land
Where only the unknown lurks

Nothing but an empty canvas
Waiting without a frame
We paint it with expectation
In some kind of guessing game

There is no map to guide you
To show you the easy way
Just some unspoken promise
We have forgotten to say

We know all we have is now
This time is ours to own
One brief second to make a mark
One brief second then it's gone

Let our hearts beat together
In rhythm with earth and sky
Squeezing the most from today
No regrets we wave it goodbye

Nothing matters but this time
Enjoying the present with you
Until the sun splits the dark
And the world wakens anew

Love and lust

cannot be found without the other.

Love has a hidden hunger,

while lust seeks for comfort.

Weeks past, I overlooked
A pass you made on the overpass;

Now it comes to pass you touch
my *** under the underpass,
and under my underpants.

These things
These things come
These things come in
These things come in threes.

Now
Harder than a Portuguese defibrillator
                           to rhyme
Harder than Chinese algebra later
                   than bed time
So hard it’s long, no longer
“Well hung” and you are coming
atop my tongue.