my parents taught me
to remain silent
when i have nothing nice
to say

they said
people will not
assume i'm a mute
if i keep quiet

so now
when something requires a nasty reply
i keep silent and
raise my *******

the problem with accomplishment:
when my whole day
is her equivalent
of two hours

Tracing your hips
My fingertips
are enchanted by you.

Trying to inhale you
your skin
your hair
your breathe

Grey eyes
Hiding your universe
your heart your pain your passion your love
let me see
I am not afraid to meet you there.
pull me in
Your face tells me stories and my soul needs to listen
I am unafraid

Collide with me kindly
fingertips
palms
gaze
taste
salt.

"Is this beautiful?"

What is a poem but a maze of powerful words
that only the poet can truly understand
What is a poet but a man
a pencil in his hand
with every word he engraves upon her skin
he is pulled further
and further in
lost he is no more
left at the mercy of her soul
forever adrift in his words
her words
her

***** is not high on the list
pain and confusion not welcome

does it make you humble
when you listen to the ideals of the young?

come closer to death
by coming closer to life

no one is going to understand you fully
your a mystery even to yourself

does any of this matter?
are we making things count

poetry frees the poet
the poet needs freedom to love.

.
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                   o    ov     o
                 v      f e       v
                f        f e         f
               e         c            e
               f        o  v         f
               e       f     e        e
               c       f     e        c
                 o      c  o        o
                  v       v        v
                       f    f      f
                            e