Of all the times
We have encountered each other thus far,
We have never been alone.

I do not know who you are when you are alone,
Or who you would be if you were alone with me.

The idea of it all
Makes me curious.
Like I just might want
To find out.

Your words are soft and steady in my hand
running away through the dark ink in my pen
getting carried away
making love to each sheet of paper.
Kissing corners of pages, curling corners of mouths
while by passers rejoice to see true young love
with passion and honesty
as each letter was formed
making love to each sheet of paper.
Shivers dance down my spine
passing through every inch of my body
as my pen begins caressing, gently
making love to each sheet of paper.
The sound of your voice echoes purely
provoking a deeper act of love
as I pour out all the contents of my soul while
making love to each sheet of paper.
I twisted with delight as my chest sunk and rose
at an increasing rate-
that unreal feeling you get, after
making love to each sheet of paper.

Don't cry, this kiss is a kiss goodbye.
Don't cling, it's time to part.
Don't look at me nor ask me why
I've taken back my heart.

No questioning, no pleading;
No door remains ajar.
No doubt your heart is bleeding
Now, and wounds of love will scar.

Don't hope to ever turn back time,
Nor resurrect the flame
Of what became a pantomime
Of love, in all but name.

She puts her hand in his back pocket.
I know they're going home together tonight.

She's about as predictable as a fortune cookie (everything always ends in bed.)
In three days she'll forget the whole thing. (I wish everything in life was that easy.)

At 18 you are not who your parents perceive you to be
At 18 the mistakes you make are yours alone
At 18 you learn life's lessons can be brutal
At 18 you think a broken heart is a mortal wound
At 18 you don't know who you are
At 18 you have dreams

At 18 the world is yours
At 18 you CAN do anything
At 18 you can be who you want to be
At 18 you can make your own choices
At 18 setbacks do not defeat you
At 18 you are free

At 18 there is always time

my eyes are glazed over with memories
of a time when love was our treasure
with the wind at our backs
pushing us forward into a fantasized future
where there were no painful heartbeats
or second guessing of days to come
and your hand held mind with a grasp
tighter than the skin enveloping our spirits

my eyes are glazed over with tears
flowing like time in an endless rush
feeling the aching scars you carved upon me
when you shed your cuccoon for wings
on a wind that got you no higher than the ground
yet as far from what you were as possible
until you realized that the sky was a lonely place
and the world not so bright untinted of passion