dandelion lover wept once far away
where her hands of saturnine
in desperation of thirst for a love true
crawl to the moon      
drown in lust drawn wine
cry in mascara marked pillow sheets
champagne delilah laughs in remark
whom could see love so blind
strikes the hand of the woman who
clenches her throat to force the dark provocation of heavy drawn eyes
her veins draw blue and she kisses feverishly for she sought to conquer and love her so
but dandelion lover has blown away
wept her tears in vain
holds eloquently the hand of love who doth fully enrich oneself in
delilah draws murky blue streams in search of a long lost dream
chases the matyr of a past life
there does dandelion delilah thrive
in one anothers sweet demise

i am a fool
i am redundant towards you
i am a plausible catalyst
i am a hurricane who decided to weaken because it fell in love with the blooming shrub
i am the thunderstorm that cowers as it crawls the sky and regains strength just to fall to its knees again
i am the dawn of morning who grows a lavender blue before turning ravishing yellow and fading into deep in the sea blue i am
i am
*i am

a throbbing pain in my forehead
a want to lavishly lay on bed and sleep for eternity
but a want to wake up to see the lavender blue light
to think about the beauty in life
to open the window and tell the neighborhood man about the stitch on his holiday sweater
when the sun peers through the window and time slow down to the extent that dust dances along the rays of light
warmth is nostalgia of living life
being human  


i miss you so


in regards towards never touching your skin or tracing the words of a conversation so haphazardly spoken
the words meticulously chosen out of pride and embarrassment
i think I might have died inside you
i think I quite love you
let me sit down on stark grass and open a book
let me stutter as my tongue fanthoms elegance
buzz with a frequency that trails my head and tells me to slam my head against a locker in joy
why did you slip her a letter when ive written thirteen about you and your steady heartbeat and how i hear it when i walk in
about that tone in your voice when your mother decides to cry
or how i would split open my right brain
a hope of proving that what is illogical
what drove the man of pompeii to open his mouth in hopes of cleansing his ****** soul
who smiled as he cut his throat