As I see you
Laying next to me
As the ghost
That never seemed to fade
Away from the
Destroyed shine of you
In my ajar mind
I was spooked
Like a child
I ran away
From what you spoke of,
Words I thought
You would never produce
Out of your vocabulary
I remeber words
Tripping out of your mouth
And into the treadmill
Of my mind.
Still running
Cutting deep,

Packing my bags
Was the hardest part
Of living with you.
Not the scratch marks
Left on my cage
It was the idea
That no matter how many bags I packed
I couldnt slow down those words.

You see,
You are my past.
Standing as the brick wall
In my future.
No matter how black and white I am,
You, my past
Will find the murky gray spots
On the crack of my skull
And keep running on this treadmill

There there, little soul
Blaze with fire, harvest the cold
Under the shade of canopy
Shadowing overgrown trees.

Dandelion smiles
Roses flies
Daffodil cries
Peony arrives

A billion conscience neurons
Meandered through the sulci and gyri
A brilliant universe of all
The vast freedom of human mind.

Fall for a poet because-
She will place her soft, tense lips upon your flesh and it will cause a burning sensation like no other
( due to the most beautiful poetry being engraved upon you. Quite like a tattoo )

//

Fall for a poet because-
Her words will possess such power.
The power to erupt volcanoes within you
( also she will know how to cause earthquakes that cause violent storms  which result in storms blazing hard in your very eyes )

//

Fall for a poet because-
I gurentee you that you will never find a raw-er form a love. A love that is so kind and so pure
( a love that has the potential to wreck beautiful art or create breathing trees )

//

Do yourself a favour darling,
Fall for a poet because-
Pieces of you will now be found in all that she creates.

Reality has always been
So far away from me
I had you once
But maybe I never really did
Only created the illusion

Acting the way you do
Makes one feel like those feelings
Are returned
For once

Maybe for a moment they were
Returned only in those moments

I still love you
And I'm sure I always will
For everything that you are
You are still home to me

I wish I could be yours
I thought I was
Never official
But who needs labels

But that was wishful thinking
Being led on by encouraging actions

We do have something special
But I wish I had you to myself
I think I'm selfish after all

At least I have you in my dreams
I dream about you often
And in that time
I have you
And you have me
And both are equal
Everything I have ever wanted
Continues while I sleep
Sometimes I never want to wake up
Why would I want to wake up
Only to be slapped across the face
I wish I could dream forever

who knows if the moon’s
a baloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky—filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their baloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where

always
            it’s
                   Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves

in the rain-
darkness,     the sunset
being sheathed i sit and
think of you

the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles

your eyes half-
thrush
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss

and
there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then

your dancesong
soul.     rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered,and i

think
       of you

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

You're my favorite form of art, so abstract when you're away my mental image of you still exists. Allowing me to go over your curves, perfecting your imperfections that only you see, I'm a perfectionist when it comes to you it doesn't take much because you're already perfect to me. As I lay you across my canvas exploring your every dimensions, Amazed with your beauty i stop and stare with out a care, I'm Picasso with this **** I swear. I classify you as Aesthetic, you're visually pleasing. God took his time on you well before I did, and that's just me being candid. Easily modeling you make it look easy as I continue to work on you, catch these strokes boo. What a masterpiece you are you're my most valuable piece of art, pleased with your outcome, you're my favorite form of art.