"Was this love even worth it", she asked with blood shot eyes and a slight quiver in her voice "Is it better to never have loved at all than to feel the cold void of the one you love leaving?"

"Perhaps" he whispered "you need the winter to appreciate the spring and you need the drought to appreciate the rain. These things go hand in hand. It is better to say you survived than to have never tried"

what they don't see:
your hand entwined with mine,
how alive I am by your side

what they don't hear:
your deep voice, telling me
how strong I really am

what they don't realize:
they've been dreaming
of me, alone and lonely

but I'm the opposite
I've got you,
my secret warrior,
supplying me endorphins
loving me- better than they ever can

we're the victors
of this broken land,
secret warrior and I

There isn't a feeling more intense than lust,
Nothing more engulfing, more true.
Makes the hardest obstacle look like mere dust,
No space for mind, no sign, no clue.

What can explain the urge?
That moment all energies converge,
Illusion or divine upsurge?
None can articulate which leads to this splurge.

Yet in all my experience I have been a seer,
Studied the feeling, up-close and near.
The blinding force that goes beyond fear,
Makes you forget life and everything dear.

There wasn't anything that made me more sure,
There couldn't be a feeling more pure.
Wondered why it was the lowest sin,
The blinding desire for another's skin.

It then struck me like an arrow,
Why does it have to be so narrow?
What if lust was elevated to emotion?
What if the same happened in life, or still, in devotion?

Could there be a higher way to forget yourself?
To taste the beyond and come out of your shelf.
Yes! Yes! it struck me right,
In one moment of divine insight.

Then for truth I began my lust,
A desire just as robust.
From the root, to the crown, felt a mighty ******,
That cleansed a stagnant mind of its rust.

And so again I was made a child,
Full of innocence, yet so wild.
Blinded once more, but with a lust divine,
Cracked open to see the subtle and the fine.

Two centers exist through which your energies explode,
The result the same, you become fierce.
******* both,
The root, a seed for creation,
The crown, the creators seat.

Nothing would be better
Nothing could be more
That life of empty wine bottles
Rom comps on the tv
You nuzzled deep into my chest
arms around your waste
A filled living room couch
So drunk
Dreaming thoughts
of you, and you of me
So drunk

I am a shadow.
I go unnoticed.
I am the darkness that everybody chooses to ignore but knows is there.
I am the choice people regret making.
I am the chill that travels up your spine when you feel anxious.
I am what you see in the corner of your eye, but is gone when you look.
I don't actually exist To you.
To any of you.
I'm just a regret.
I'm the bad taste in your mouth.
I am what you hate.
But I am a shadow.
Even when I'm gone.
I'll be lurking behind you.
In the back of your mind.
Reminding you.
Of what happened.

Sometimes
I see a picture.
A picture of a woman
in a kitchen.

Her hair is tied back. But sometimes
it’s not.

Sometimes she winks at me.
A knowing
smile and twitch
of an eyelid.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she’s angry.
Drenched
in the sweat of steamed
broccoli and cauliflower.
Sometimes.


Sometimes she’s cleaning.
Scrubbing her kitchen
spotless. Red tomato
sauce and broken
glasses.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she wilts.
Beside the petunias.
Black
and purple.
Blue
and pink.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she’s spilling.
Water flooding
over the counter
top and stuck
to the clotted drain.
Sometimes.

Sometimes she sees me. Usually
not.  Sometimes she smiles. Usually
not. Sometimes I help her. Usually
not: sometimes.