She is the soft sultry perfection of beauty
and has the charm and  seduction of poetry
from forbidden realms
and he wants to read every word waiting in the blood of her kiss
and trace every slow syllable
of lust and pleasure echoing from her throart
her heart beat is the song the gods make sacrifices too
her skin is the silk canvas of loves endless dreams
her eyes could swallow the sun
and outshine every star of the night
the curves of her hips and ******* and smile
make every moon blue and envious
she teaches fire to dance
and faries the art of mischief
she is neither here or there
and is always part
of anything that is beautiful

All I want is someone with a broken heart
and a tattered soul
and a kind smile
that is still willing to love
and we don’t have to love each other specifically
as long as we both just love to love
because facts and details become boring
and bodies age
and the same jokes might still be funny
but the haha’s have lost their edge
and isn’t love all we are
what are we other than the answer
to the last prayer falling
from the lips of a dying god
gone mad from being alone
in the emptiness that once was
and spit us out of the womb
of its dream that felt the pains
of first becoming aware
and we drifted and floated
and slowly covered its corpse
and wasn’t it beautiful then
when love was a singular vibration
and thread that connected us
one and all through dreams and death
and then somehow we lost touch
and became complicated
and advanced and civilized
and addicts and abusive and abused
and divided and conquered
and molded and cut and boxed
and domesticated and foreign and distant
and love became a postcard
and a postage stamp
and a card for a holiday
for this cheap replication of living
for this miserable thing we make out of life
so give me your broken heart
and your tattered soul
and your kind smile
and bore me with the details
and I’ll hang on every one
and we’ll get old
and laugh at the same joke
till we’ve fallen over the edge
and gone mad
and we’ll bury ourselves
in the corpse of the god
that gave birth to us all

when we believed in fairy tales
and promises of forever
were promises that
were supposed to be kept
and instead we end up reading
the last pages of the chapter
written in lonely tears
and the world keeps turning
page after page
and suddenly it felt like
we had too much time on our hands
when just the other day
we wondered where did the time go
and now today it just moves too slow
and we find more comfort
in being alone in a crowded room
and prefer our rooms at home
to be empty and haunted
by ghosts of the promises
we should have kept
because life was easier
to believe in
back when we were living it
like characters in love
who lived in the pages of a fairy tales

I write about what I believe
and believe in what I write
and I often write fairy tale like poems
about love to girls and women
who do not exist
because love is an easy thing
to care for when it is make believe
and a much harder thing to tend to
when it is living inside a heart
that is inside a chest
that is covered in soft skin
and under a mouth with warm lips
and a gentle smile
that is kind enough in the morning light
and beautiful even under the darkest thoughts
and fears of loneliness
and if only I had known better
in my youth these fairy tales
would be biographies instead
but the sad truth is sad for a reason
and I still haven’t found a cure
for stupidity or shyness
and in the hour of solitude
I find comfort in the keys
of a dying typewriter
where the ink sputters and spits
onto the page coughing and choking
to hold back the tears
as I write another fairy tale
of the make believe
but still have trouble believing
in what I make

I hear you're lonely in a room
in a hotel with the broken pieces
of a heart and you’re not sure
what pieces are yours
and I have to wonder
if any of them are mine
because I was there
just the other night
feeling that way to
as I walked the streets all alone
and if I had stayed another night
would we have beaten fate
by sharing our desperation
under blue moon tears
and careless whispers of whiskey
stirring dead dreams and cold ice
and found comfort in a drunken haze
of naked lullabies
and hard kisses of soft sin
and forgotten what damage love can do
as we pass the night pretending
not to see the loneliness
reflected back from each other’s eyes

Do not fear the beauty of death
the black song birds of grey skies
the passing of time
that become memories only the grieving
and eternity will remember

Do not fear the song of the dying
for we all are singing along
even though from time to time
we pretend to forget the words
and dream the foolish dream
of vampires and eternity

Do not fear the mortality
of bones and flesh
for nothing last forever my love
for even time will crumble and fade
and become a memory
only the grieving and eternity will remember

There is nothing to fear in the end
that is not worth living through
and it is only as real as we imagine
so why not imagine a life so full of love
and so beautiful
that death weeps to spread her wings
over our lives we lived so well