I sign and bite my lower lips, my head reels with images and unmet fantasies. I wrought my iron forged my swords, filled my quiver to brim in the anticipated encounter. I rehearsed my war chants, Practiced my victory dance. I puffed my chest, strengthened my *****, flexed my muscles. I gathered the crowd to see me unhilate my enemies. But I regret, I regret not my bad choices, but for the good ones I didn't do, I regret the memories I didn't create, I regret the lyrics I could have made into songs. I regret the words I swallowed that gave me ulcers, I regret the fake smile I put that made my tooth ache I regret

want to throw myself into you
give it my all, every atom
meet me there at the edge

waiting is best part

To the sweetest girl and the one whom I have chosen and love. You are my clouds, my hope of rain. You are my lightening my expectation of thunder. You are my seed a promise for a harvest. You are my road, an  assurance of my destination.
You are the framework on which I weave my future around. You are the lyrics that sweeten my song. A beautiful soul you are that makes a great companion. And I love you.

Exaggeration is another term to spell out the truth, when we microscope our events. We find the things which make us tick. Like a clock work that keeps time irrespective of the presence or absence of sunlight, so are our feelings for one another. In darkness in blurriness of form, in our misty absence and clear presence. We find each other like a sailor, in a  stormy sea, our hearts point in the right direction our true north.

We are cool like clouds, as when we near each other we thunder and the lightening we produce illuminate. We are like the olive branches at the sent of summer we bloom and pale the days of non flowering. We are the masinga dam, when we over flow even the strong houses nearby have to give way to our mighty flood.

You want to love me, I know you do.
You want to express Eros to m, that you could.
But your love isn't inch deep in me, coz I only respond to my kind of loving.

To the sun you wish to take me,
But an a night kind of a guy,
To the festival you want to have me,
But a cave kinda person.
Your love generously given, but my thirst only my kind of love can reach.

Clothes you kinda buy me, but wind I love to feel on my skin. Shoes and trinkets you provide but grey is my colour.
To ensure your heart cease from hurts, am giving your the manual to my love, my kind of love.

Sugar  is sweet,
memories are sweeter.  
Our hearts aches, it drinks the dregs of loneliness, but it's quenched by sweet mosels of good memories.

Youthfulness is the writing class,  old age is the reading  class where memories are read.  As we cold with age,  memories warm us up.