I would start with your hands.
Mine would dance with yours;
our fingers waltzing together.

Then they would become curious,
I know so.
My hands would glide up your arm
leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.

I don't know where your hands have gone,
but mine have reached the top of your shoulder.
My fingers can't resist
tracing your collar bone.

Your hands find mine.
I think they got lost
in the escalation of my own.
But they're together now.

Taking a hint from yours,
my hands reach to your chin --
only breaking contact
for a second.

My fingers have tilted your chin,
so our eyes can do a similar dance
to the one our hands have completed.

Hands are the utilitarian laborers
of the body,
but eyes guard the gates
to the soul.

My eyes search your own.
They are hesitant, but
my hands are always reliable.

They pull you into me
and at the last second
before our eyes close,
and our lips meet,
my eyes find what they knew was there.

You are above me, for the simple fact that you are not me.
I am but a lonely piano player, who resides in the corners
of restaurants and blackened old hearts. You, with

glimmering eyes, and mischievous lips, dance barefoot
against the earth, the arches of your feet covered in free-verse.
I do not approach you; you are above me.

And here is something you may have overlooked
One room’s floor is another room’s
ceiling, and while you sway and dance and live and wander

you are inevitably doing so on my dreams. Burdened and breathless,
I sit and watch you move, up in the stars and the night and the
glow of the moon.

I look up and i see Heaven, you look down and you
see Hell. And as you bow your head to pray, just remember,
you are above me.

Either take me
Or leave me

But do not
Lead me on

Hello princess,
You're beautiful,
Kind,
****,
Funny,
You make me smile,
I'm going to hug you close and deep,
Stare into your soul,
Hold your hand.
But I don't want you,
Remember, we're just friends.
There I was falling in love, then love didn't catch me.

We wake to skies of groggy grey
and struggle to wipe the night from our eyes.
Rain pelts the windowpane as I burrow into you
and ask with a tongue still warped by dreams
if we can stay in today and sleep off the world like a bad hangover.

We could turn the bed into a boat
and use the day to travel the seven seas.
Our pillows could be rocket thrusters on a spaceship
trailing asteroids through the cosmic void.
We could go spelunking under the comforter
and scale mountains with the sheets.

I could try to convince you it’s just the weather,
but the truth is I just want more of you – all of you.
I want every adventure from our bed
to a jungle, to a mountain range,
to trips to the grocery store and
making pancakes in our pajamas.

So let’s sleep late and lazy and
make our bodies into puzzle pieces
because today, rain or shine, we’re playing hookey.

I don't miss you

I miss the smell of your skin
I miss your cold hands brushing against my back
I miss the way you stared at me in wonder

I miss the ***-grabbing, lip-biting, back-scratching in all it's glory
I miss the late night phone calls and early morning texts
I miss the hours spent aimlessly daydreaming about you

But no, I don't miss *you