I didn’t know what I was doing,
But I left three buttons undone so I still blame myself,
Because I thought having somebody touch me for more than one night,
Would surely follow from letting them touch me at all,
Slap naive on my head,
And send me home,
Oh lover,
You’re a pyromaniac,
And I’m too flammable.

He invited butterflies when he started
and
turned them into moths when he finished
*using me

Not in some tower, somewhere
locked tight is she, but here
under blood and bone.

She rages like ocean tides
on the chiseled edges of me
that poorly attempt to contain her.

Be still, I plead
I’m trying to be logical,
yet still she storms.

It’s candid to say that
even I am afraid
her force will conquer me.

Going back
through our chats
a tight knot
a knot
tightening,
I choke
it wells up
inside
I hold
on to dear God
Mercy, mercy
pain
it hits
wave
forms
I drown, I drown
until
a poem comes
to save.

It's never quite as romantic as they make it out to be.
These trips to France
or Spain
or Germany.
To the misty mountains of Iceland,
the wine-toasting grottos of Italy.

The romance comes about a half-hour before sun rise.
Catching, counting
and losing count
of the stars you see in her eyes.
In those sincere sighs
that come after the heartfelt goodbyes
and the soft smiles in those happy hellos:
Those are the ones
that let you know.

Romance is not a place:
It's a person.
And when you find them,
hold them close
and never let go.
Or you'll be destined to dwell on the past
and to dream only of tomorrow.
With a head full of regret
and a heart full of sorrow.

Don't let it happen to you
like it happened to me.
Hold her close, for heaven's sake:
Or lost
you will forever be.