The usual distractions failed.
Silence creeps closer and the laughter fades
Evaporating into muffled sighs and awkward glances.

The words are on the tips of our tongues but neither will be the first to break rank.
We both know something needs to be said but the only words we can manage is "pack another bowl"
The smoke forms a wall to shut out the bad for just a few more hours,
death melts away again to laughter and nostalgia
It only seems to last minutes until our barrier dissolves and life leaks in to stifle our joke and quips.

The extended arms of family members seem cold and ignorant.
when a soft bed and warm atmosphere has become abandonment,
and love feels like a luxury i just don't deserve.

We drive each other,
hoping that if one keeps walking forward the other will follow suit...
so will everyone

"Do onto others as you would have done onto you"
If that view is the right one are any of us innocent?
He reached out his hand for one thing to grab firm to,
and we turned our backs until he was gone.
And we dare to ask what he was thinking in his last moments
And we dare to ask why we weren't there to talk with him
And we dare to ask for one more day with him

He just wanted to get clean....

What is he like?
How does he dress?
What does he read?

The questions come flooding in like my feelings when I first saw him,
except instead of riding the wave,
I'm drowning in it.

Drowning in scrutinizing eyes,
curious mouth,
and women past their prime,
trying to live vicariously through me.

How old is he?
What's his major?
Where does he go to school?

A word of advice,
never start dating around the holidays,
you instantly become the center of attention.

There intentions are good,
but they hold my regard for them far to high.
Thinking, they can pass of fail the one I love like a school boy on an exam.
Thinking, they can void him like an unfavorable law.
Thinking, there opinion really matters to me.

Where is he from?
What does his parents do?
How long have you known him?

I humor them,
for these conversations can be fun sometimes,
I do love talking about him.

Though the questions are never ending,
as though we are in a ring,
and they are looking for an opening,
circling around me,
trying to find the week spot.

Interrogation me,
trying to make me crack,
for surely no boy can be so perfect.

Where does he work?
Does he watch sports?
What clubs is he in?

I do not understand why they feel so entitled to my life,
I do not understand when my happiness stopped being enough.
I do not understand when you became part of our relationship.

I love him,
and he loves me,
and everyone else will just have to live with that.

Approval be ******.

Esteemed Sirs, all Honorable Ladies -
the artist asked me to pose
and he chose all the clothes
and the hat
and he made me stand there behind a frame
And he was serious
but he asked me to smile
and then asked me to have a smaller smile
not too broad, just a smile between not smiling and smiling
and he said these things with such seriousness
And he said not to stand like an animal in a cage
but to come forward in the frame
and to put my hands ever so casually on the frame

And he said, keep glowing and he said this with all seriousness
and when he did smile
it was like between not smiling and smiling
as if he were posing for me
And he was drawing and drawing
and then he had a break
and I had something to eat and drink in the kitchen
and then I was back behind the frame
and he took several days  

And I thought what a serious man this was, this artist
And when he had finished, he asked me to look
and I thought it was a lovely picture of me
And then I realized how playful this artist was, how clever -
putting me in a frame, as if we lived our lives in a frame
And then he had the canvas put in frame
so there’s frame within frame –
and I laughed then to see how
much humor the artist had, though he had worked with
such earnestness, such grave countenance –
I’ve been framed! Ha, ha…now I wonder often,
if we do not actually live our lives within a frame,
each one of us confined in frames…

Well, darling, we've surpassed 3 a.m.
And 4 a.m....5 a.m....and 6...
Talking about our life together,
Only theoretically of course,
And I haven't freaked out.  Even when
You said the word "marriage," I didn't
Blink an eye and I took it in stride.

And when you said "children," I smiled;
An image of dark haired babes screaming,
Us two standing and laughing because
We just don't know what the **** to do.
My hair would be frazzled, hoisting one
On my hip as I sing lullabies.
And our toddler would be sitting
On your lap, chattering as your eyes
Widen, overwhelmed with her questions.
How I love your dark beautiful eyes.

I don't picture a white picket fence
With a manicured lawn and flowers
But I envision the two of us
Becoming older and sassier.
We are infinite for a while
Until I wake up one fateful day
And I realize that you have passed on.

But I gather the grand-kids around
And with a glimmer in my eye, I
Tell our story sparing no details
Because someone has to remember
When I am dead and gone from the world.
And when I close my eyes for the last
Time, I smile and say: "Remember,
Darling, when we were just pretending?"
And my soul will depart my body,
Find and join yours in our own heaven.

So answer me and please be honest;
Baby, will you live this dream with me?

how the flowing
wind squeals at the
sound of your
concrete smash. fool,
the wind may carry
you on Her back,
but your  infintismal
against the screeching
yelp of Her translucent
lips. that fire smitten
jungle howler will
blow your face off.

Home is a funny place,
its somewhere between love,
and a warm bed.

It lives between a building,
and a sole.

It is a place,
an idea,
and a person.

Home is where you can be yourself,
where you don't need to try,
and you are loved.

Home does not need to be where you live,
or where you sleep,
or where you keep your things.

It can be in a hallway,
on your way to class.

On a beach,
in the middle of summer.

In a restaurant,
surrounded by people.

In a studio,
in a hug,
on the street.

Home can be a place,
but it can move.

Though your address may never change,
your home could be always moving.

You may think that you lost your home,
but maybe you just lost yourself.
When you find it again,
you will see,
it has always been waiting.

Home may not always be the easiest place to be,
it needs constant upkeep,
and it is not always simple.

Everything you put into your home,
will come back,
and the more people you invite in,
the larger it gets.

Dare to let them in,
dare to be hurt,
dare to build a home.

My friends,
thank you,
for building a home,
with me.

On the nights I'm not with you,
I think of the time you first kissed me,
and how delightfully surprised I was.

On the nights I sleep alone,
I think of how we met,
and how a simple twist of fate has changed everything.

On the nights I'm sad,
I think of how you look at me,
and how you just stare with the goofy sideways smile.

On the nights I'm mad,
I think of how you hold me,
and how a simple hug can brighten my day.

On the nights I can not sleep,
I think of the boy who saved me,
and how in such short a time I have fallen for him.

I think of our similarities
and our differences.

Our values
and our flaws.

But most of all,
most of all I think of how your hand fits in mine,
and how I will never let it go.