She was crisp in Autumn's wind.
Definite lines of beauty
set in stone,
on pavements filled
with leaves.

Her skin is cinnamon sprinkled,
and her oh just as punchy.

She was scented with spice,
her presence never a shadow
or mango-mangled mixture.
It was definite,
it was there.

She was there.

Her smile sits
on the curb of a road
between Summer
and Fall.

I left with the intent
of seeing you again.

I wish I would have known
otherwise.

The stars
are just
night time
riptides.

They pull you deeper
and deeper
into the night sky,
until
you're 30 miles in,
and not looking for home.

I hide beneath the water,
gasping for air to breathe,
but the only air I need
is the familiarity
of drowning.

I rather taste
the salt in my lungs
than break the pain
of first breath.

I'd rather die
in this state
than give up
pieces of my 'personality'
for happiness.

Chaotic familiarity is forever a welcoming storming sea.

The ghost of her presence
is well requested
in its
absence.

You stand,
cowardice,
under the title of professor.
I fear not the weight
of the textbooks
of your knowledge,
for they
are
empty.