Words flow like wine,
From depths that rival the ocean's heart.
Colored shades of blue and red,
The hues of love and passion,
No longer unrequited, but-
Suppose the rainbow turns shades of grey,
And the sweet wine becomes ashes?
Suppose seas dry into mere lakes?
Suppose the love becomes indifference,
And the passion turns to lust and is all that remains?
Suppose our words run out or are written on a different page?

I was in love with another, once,
The yellow of the rainbow seemed like gold.
The wine that made us heady tasted like Moscato,
And our love burned urgent like a fire that never had a chance to hold.
It burned out, extinguished
By not a lake, but just a puddle,
And we were left two bodies, unconnected
By the faintest common thoughts, and our souls seemed strangers.
I then saw you, and rediscovered
What I'd forgotten long ago,
But suppose what brought us two together
Happens to us, with someones other?

The meteor is coming
Closer and closer,
The skies are humming;
You feel the earthquake
That will take down your house,
The ground is rumbling;
The stampede is ahead,
And you will be trampled,
Run fast, little girl, you're seeing red;
The barrel is pointed at your head,
The trigger is cocked
The finger tightens, you hear the shot;
It slides into your open blue vein,
It makes love with your blood,
You feel your life drain away;
You're in a two- person spaceship alone,
But somehow that meteor is out for your blood,
And you, silly girl, will get crushed.

I thirst for words,
A thirst you have begun to quench.
It is a need of the literate, I suppose,
To inspire romantic prose.
A machine gun has proven to not be enough,
Only a pen has sufficed to capture my love-
A man who is man in all the right ways,
Who tugs at my heart in all the right places.

I covet an equal,
In content and not just circumstance.
It is the dream of the different, I think,
To desire the sameness a lover can bring.
The opposite tried, I must now turn to kindred,
As an audacious adventurer long last made timid-
I give myself unto this writer's loving,
That he may know just how to love me.

My heart is made of glass,
From grains of sand
Collected with care.
When it came time for it to flower,
It was raised carefully
To a lover's lips
And blown and blossomed.
My heart is now shaped,
It is molded
And will set in time,
But in order for it to be my own
I had to tell him goodbye.

My heart is oh, so fragile,
One touch and it could burst.
It seems that two days
Before I'm of legal age
I'm more frail than I was at first.
For while a rare touch
Would have shattered me then,
It will keep me whole today.

We're in the sun, now.
You have a finger on my pulse
So that I don't bleed out.
If you knew  how crystalline I am
I wonder if you'd let me drop.
You wrote the words to my heart,
The ones that were written on the sand,
You held the glass blower's hand,
You will be the one to set me,
And I trust you with all of my glass heart.

The banks have overflowed,
Winter has come after an autumn
Of months, and a summer of years.
Not an inch of footing for the flooding-
Take the moral high road.

It's odd that in this age
Cheating is seen as
A necessity of success
And not an immorality.

I wish I could walk around
Every day, all the time,
With a cheat sheet in my back pocket
And key words scrawled on my palm.