I’ll never let go.

Not even if there is an ocean,

coming between us.

Freckles of wisdom
scattered across his kind face.
Each spot a bright star.

Our love is ageless
A wall clock without it’s hands
An empty hour glass

Bits of tar rolling down my throat
and into my lungs
used to make me feel alive
His lips tasted of metal
and his of cinnamon
and hers of freshly picked strawberries
I would bring food to my mouth
and ingest
hoping one day to feel full
To bite into something
that would not leave me
wanting for something
Drops of burning liquid
would numb my wet lips
and then my heart
the tartness of meals
led to an aftertaste of
bitterness
until I brought my lips to yours

I love when it’s cold.

I enjoy seeing your breath in the air.

It helps confirm that you are real,

and not someone I’ve concocted.

Dark eyes,

dark hair.

A tenderness,

a shyness.

A perfect recipe,

for the enjoyment of a young girl.

To die and sleep within a world of dreams,
is but to live in my reality.
There are few who endure
the true nature of things,
without methods of escape.
We call those people realists.
I call those people sad.
To envision the world through your eyes,
is a menacing chaos.
Without divine order or inspiration.
Set yourself aflame
and rise from the ashes of the material world.
Live as though dreams can be touched,
and music can be tasted,
smells can be heard,
and love can be seen.

Lady sings the blues
as he takes off his shoes.
As he takes of her dress
she’s got nothing to lose.

Lady sings her song
he’s not singing along.
But he makes her feel good
What on earth could go wrong?

Lady hums her tune
by the light of the moon.
he’s taken her soul
and left the saloon.

Lady is alone
in a room of her own.
Lighting a cigarette
and chilled to the bone.

He is the hope of a child
wrapped in the body of a man.
He is one hundred years of wisdom
over an eighteen year span.
He is the pleasure of my past
and the excitement of my future.
He is a dream without slumber.
He is a heart-mending suture.
He is a constellation,
painted across the blackest night sky.
He is a song without words.
He is a natural high.
He is enlightenment--extreme awareness
He is selfless temperance.
He is humility and fairness.
He is the very deepest oceans
and tallest of trees.
He is the shore upon the sand.
He is a summer breeze.
He is an epic love story
masked behind tragedies of war.
He is pure.
He is love.
He is everything and more

I want so much to remember.
All I can recall,
is her face,
which felt like paper.
So thin,
crisp, and white.
Like a sheet of snow,
over hills and peaks.
A raisin.
Drained of its juices,
but still sweet as ever.

More than every reaching hand.
More than every grain of sand,
that covers every beach,
and every single bit of land.

More than all the stars at night.
More than every buildings height.
More than every single
kite, that has ever taken flight.

More than every single book,
every picture ever took,
and all the hats and all the coats
that hang on every little hook.

More than every blooming tree.
More than every stinging bee,
and all the little fish,
that make their way across the sea.

Is how much I love you

I'll paint my lips red,
so that every kiss leaves a trace on your face,
and all the girls will know that you are mine.

I've become
what I promised myself I wouldn't
a zombie
writing these words
onto this sheet of paper
I had to reference the 110 bus for the date
November 5, 2010
floated across an electronic screen
it's grown colder
colder than before
The leaves
no longer on the trees
have adorn the ground
in various shades of yellows and oranges
but mostly brown
The dampness of the air
only makes things appear
more *****
It almost makes me long for snow
at least then things will appear clean
only I will know that underneath it's surface
lays the dirt trash and clutter
making my streets a swamp
residual poverty
The Mystic River almost looks appealing today
I wish I could bathe in the decadence
of it's slime and dirt
and blown tires and shopping carts
an urban soup
The station is full of it's usual assembly line
of rude people
who's lives are far more important than yours
"No thank you", man who gives away the paper
There's no good news today
The rain is falling in a pattern on the train window
all around the head of an Asian man
directly across from me
almost in the shape of a halo
maybe he is God
or at least and Angel
"Stand behind the yellow line
doors are closing"

The tiled floor is cold pressing into my feet.

The only warmth comes from the steam of my tea resting on the nightstand.

I’d like to know how I survived the winter months without you

where my only friend was a good book and maybe a casual cigarette.

By candlelight, the tea and honey is finding it’s way all the way down,

coating my throat for temporary relief.

What I wouldn’t give for a kiss right now.

You could stir my tea.

I’d lick the sugar clean from your finger,

and it would somehow taste sweeter.

Be born into the world
as a boy or a girl
learn to walk
learn to speak
learn to smile
learn to eat

lose a tooth
skin your knee
catch a cold
fight a bully

run away
come back home
find yourself
find your own

have a drink
do some drugs
sit and think
fall in love

have your fill
of money spent
pay the bills
pay the rent

raise some kids
watch them grow
close your eyes
six feet below

Leave the world the way you came in
full of love—free of sin

Kisses taste so good.

Underneath the big blue sky.

Not a cloud in sight.

I want to see what's inside.
Even if it's ugly.
Don't you dare,
don't you dare hide
any part of you from me.
I don't care if my heart breaks,
into thousands of pieces.
I don't care if my mind aches
my fingertips want to trace the creases
that have found their way into your angry brow.
I will get inside.
I just don't know when.
Or how.
So what if my tears spill onto the floor.
I don't want just rainbows and sunsets
I want more.
Don't ever be afraid to show me where it hurts.
I want to make it go away.
I need to brighten every shade of gray.
I want to see the darkest side of you.
I bet I would love that part too.

These are just words written on paper

which was once a living tree

thus words bringing it to life once more

and if we are to ****

and in doing so not obtain the resources of this earth

by creating images that dance

on the tips of our minds

the death is in vain

it is only through words that this leaf

this tree

which once bore fruit

now baring knowledge

is eternal

I know I may be young
but I want it all with you.
I want a house by the sea.
I want a family and a person to wake up to
every morning,
when the sun rises.
I know I may be young,
but one day my face will droop
and my bones will ache.
I know that want that with you.

I suppose all I can really say

is that I love you, in this simple way.

The way that children cherish treasures

and secret places.

“All the things I’m feeling

don’t seem to come out right.”

were the words you said to me.

You held me under a pale sky,

that got brighter with every word.

All of those jumbled feelings twisted up

into fragments from your lips.

They were the sweetest my ears have ever heard,

and I held onto them,

like blades of grass on the edge of a cliff.

I was bruised,

and so were you.

But like a healer,

you touched my face,

and replaced my frown with a smile.

It wasn’t too late for me,

and it wasn’t too late for you.

There is no way I am coming back from this technicolor dream.

With my eyes shut,

my mouth still forms a smile.

My lips reach out into the empty dark,

hoping to find yours there waiting for mine,

This dream,

where I have found myself swimming in deep waters,

drifting with miles above me,

and miles below.

I’m falling.

I know you’ll catch me when I wake.