A crow and a dove,
Synchronized in flight
From the east to the west
On a quest of might
Both carrying the staccato message,
A stereotype if you will.
The weak the dove will seek
The young and rambunctious the crow
(Always playing with what they do not know).

As to whom the victory then goes,
It is to the one who chooses the right path in his woes.

Its scrabble (for adults),
A game of hearts
where the rules never stay the same -
its a beautiful suffering, a shameless mess
as we play the letter-game,
syllables,
phrases,
all breathed into life by actions
and filled to capacity by desires and fears.
Love is semantics.
You can rest assured that somewhere,
somehow,
someone is saying exactly what they want you to hear.
How are words any different from our hearts
e  x  t  e  n  d  e  d   in naive hope of acceptance and reciprocation?
What are the principal parts of love?
I love
I have loved
I shall or will love
I have been loved
to love . . .
amo amare amavi amatus sum
Each more desperate than the last,
add a small, sarcastic smile and say with glee -
'I'm fine'.
(Grammar isn't society's strong suit anyway)

Playing house with paper cards,
each one,
       resting precariously on the previous'
back
       -hoping-
that my world won't come crashing down around me.

Its the start of a love story
moving at a glacial pace
where I'm constantly afraid of revealing my face
oh, I keep on doing everything all wrong!
Sometimes its euphoria
the next
its disgust;
one moment its so obvious
the next its distrust.

And in your arms is a clandestine complacency
when you leave it becomes a race and
suddenly I'm surrounded by choices I'd prefer not to make,
if ignorance is bliss
then make me ignorant once more
if all this exists just step in and be the one I adore.

Let me no longer waste my precious seconds
with people who do not matter.
Let all of this talking not simply be idle chatter
but be bold my bliss-seeking heart
leap       forth
                          without hesitation!

And, in the end all I ask is what do I feel?
Heart, are you playing checkers, while building walls of steel?

When your walls crumble
Will you remember me, my love?
When all your glory and power
Amounts to no more than the dust you so proudly
Trudged trough to conquer and collect
When all this is but a dream you experienced
In all too excruciating detail…
Will you once again cast your eyes upon me and let you head
Come to rest in the hollows of my neck?

When your time has drawn to a close
As the crow flies to lead a new young, eager version of yourself
Shall you, my endearing love, remember the boy-
The son, the father and the husband
that you had betrothed yourself to?

Until that day, I shall wait:
In the shadows of your ****** and soldiers;
Of your armor and your fight;
Of your pride and your power;
Of all that the children in us vowed we would never amount to- but did.

I shall stand in the memories of the penance that once made a bigot
out of my own mother.

Until then I shall breathe the amalgamated hope and
I shall wait, for you - never forgetting the axiom of our love.

He loves me like a dog;
Not a pet, not a beloved family member
But a common mutt,
cast into the wild
when I do not fetch the bone he throws me.

He loves only when I do not howl at the moon
for the injustice and evil of this cruel life.
He loves on a seasonal this-and-that sort of term
And kicks at my chest
when I sleep on his sofa or lick at his heels.

He breaks me like a horse-
To become his archetype-
And revolts at the Jezebel I am supposed to be

And yet,
this dog comes crawling back to the arms who should love me

unconditionally…

I come back to my accuser,
I crawl to my stereotype-

After all I am a **** good maid.

Life isn't really as simple as boy meets girl anymore.
Maybe it never was.
I still think about the curve of his hips, the taste of his lips and the deep hastened breaths as I pressed my body against his in eager anticipation of an ecstasy formerly unknown.
it haunts my heart,
my soul,
my dreams,
that you - my sweet blue eyed confusion -
told me you loved me and left.
Only to throw my reciprocal adoration into the arms of another
and somehow
I can't hate you.
I see you two together and somehow find the fault lies with me?
Did you simply act out of necessity?
What was it that you wanted all those nights in my arms?
Do you not know that I would draw you close even now
if you gave me the chance.
Passion is not something that can pass on a whim.
Its a powerful force, that drives us from within.
Its a chemical explosion as flesh caresses flesh
and yet, it is a soul
not simply this touch,
that often causes everything to just become too much.
When the rains stopped pouring,
the earth became dry,
And somehow, I knew that this would never truly die.

I say a begrudged goodbye and tell myself its for the best.
Somewhere I hope
that your heart will find rest.

The sun spreads candy floss across a blue sky,
its drawing a sleepy starry blanket over a world tired of its own hustle and bustle
as it coughs a smokey sigh of relief and dismay,
a carbon-monoxide sympathy.

There is a heartbeat in my ears,
a tingle on my skin -
as I await dressed to the nines,
for a clock to chime one hour closer to nine o'clock
             and to you.

Its an exhilarating mix of nearly there's and what-ifs.

There's a ring on a doorbell, familiar eyes smile back.
O, lord when did I become such a coward - look up -
look up - look up - eyes meet
as if for the first time - thump-thump tainted inhalations of breaths to short to say 'I'm fine'
my heart told me this was a good idea,
but I'm starting to think my heart''s a liar.
(Its probably just the wine)

Suddenly, a butterfly grazes a hand,
it becomes a white hot ember
thrilling and unabridged.

Its a tear of a dress, a scratch on a back, a familiar pleasure in an unfamiliar way,
Its a risk and reward
and the outside world closes its eyes and draws close
but not you and me,
not exactly,
not really,
not at all - no
not you.
not me.