11:57pm
I promised myself I’d get to sleep before midnight,
But her sweet scent
Illuminates a thousand memories in my mind.

Memories
Of her tender touch,
Her soft, gentle fingers
Intertwined with my own.

The way her glance would make my heart
Stop
Like the eye of a storm,
But race again once I was able to return the gaze.

I never thought I’d ever miss her
Stealing all the blankets.
Her kicking me in her sleep
like a rabid goat.

All it took was an admission
That I was in fact,
Wrong.

I just had to look into those blue pools of heaven,
and tell her:
How much I cherished our love,
How the sun wouldn’t rise if ever I was to lose her.

But I just had to win this argument.
I knew she wouldn’t leave.
This wasn’t going to be the tip of the iceberg.

Now I look coldly
Upon the remnants of our
Broken love
That surround me.

The darkness consumes not only the room,
but my soul.
The only light is the clock, turning over

11:58pm.

Excuse my bliss-trance
I've been seduced by the fragrant floral pheromones flooding the air,
The lilac-laced wind has wrapped my lips in splendor and
Left my eyes heavy lidded hazy
Enraptured gazing at the velvet vulvas of lilies.
The blossoming world casts it's spell of subtle sensuality
And I am left stunned in a stupor,
Heart oozing out of my orifices,
Falling in love with everything I see
Simply because it exists.
I'll caress every snapdragon to uncover it's mysterious caverns,
Stretch to kiss the slender necks of tulips,
And weave violets into my crown so our essences intertwine.
My collarbone is blushing crimson
And my head is drained of reason -
Tis the season for romantic abandon.

Say the words that stir my soul
  Internet love my heart's ablaze
The fire, the nerves are your control
  Lover you have me amazed

More sympathetic than my friends
  In languid, sloth-like afternoons
Escape to you brings to an end
  The rise and power of my moon

I miss you, though we've never met
  Our souls attached somewhere in space
But someday physically we'll get
  To share a couch in the same place

I wonder can it really be
Six hundred miles between we

It's empty in the valley of your heart

misfit wanderers lost in their dreams
collecting broken pieces
gluing them with words.

masters in the art of being faceless
singing the songs
of the unheard.

silent souls affected in tragic ways
seeking a painful solace
drowning themselves in the flood.