You are absolutely undeniably
my favorite.

I love every bit of you,
the way you feel when I
run my hands down your back, and
the unique and subtle scent you carry.

I can't get enough of the way
you make me feel and the way
you make me think even after so
long and I can always predict what
you will say.

I treasure the comfort you give me
after a long day of dealing with
people so trite and unimaginative as you.

There are many like you
but there are none that are you.
You are without a doubt
my favorite book.

I awake and the day
stretches out before me
and I wonder how I will
pass the time?

I could clean.
Less clutter means less stress
and if there is one thing I need
it's less stress.

I could work.
Due dates are fast approaching
and the truth is I do enjoy the challenge
and the feeling of satisfaction afterwards.

I could read.
Just take the day and escape
to an alternate reality where people
act with purpose and in the end
it all makes sense.

I could walk out.
Just throw this life away and find another
Variety is the spice of life and in all honestly,
I've done this all before.

But as I think and stretch
like a cat rising from a nap
my hand brushes your head
and my fingers slip through your hair.
You stir slightly, your arm subconsciously
wrapping around mine, and I know what to do.

I unplug the alarm
silence my phone
hold you close
and have midmorning dreams
of nothing but your beauty

5 minutes with you
And I am filled with
An energy I do not
Fully understand.

Though I am still young
I thought I had experienced
The full power of infatuation.
But you have set my soul
Ablaze.

The moon rises and I am
Overcome with restlessness.
How I yearn for you.
No price is too great if it
Brings you to me now.
My entire being craves
To make love to you
Like no man ever has before.

I would do away with
Every vice if it meant I could
Hold you in my arms
Kiss your neck
And see the moonlight
Reflect in your eyes.

People say I'm bitter and jaded.
This may be true but it is not
without good cause.

This attitude resonates out
from me because as good as life is,
I find myself lacking the one thing
I need to be satisfied with anything.

You

I see you around with your boy
and I try to contain myself
try to pretend that I don't care
but it's all I can do not to turn
and slam the first random
smiling soul into the floor
or spit venom in the face
of whomever dares question me.

People may think its silly
that I should want you so badly
when I could have my pick from
so many willing others
because lets face it
people pay to look this good
and it doesn't cost me a thing.

But other people are only fun
for a little while, when there's
something fun to do with them.

You are always fun during the
little time I manage to steal
from the rest of the world,
time we can spend in our own way
just you and me.

Because in these stolen hours
we do something different,
and as much as I go around
with my mask on and my claws out,
you inspire an end to the storm,

your hair shining like the sun
your eyes as clear as the sky
and like that post storm still,
I feel calm, safe, and refreshed.

But there can be only
one sun
one sky
and so I will wait
though I may not want to
until I can steal more time
and feel normal once again.

You may wonder why
I wait so long to write,
when it has long since
been knows that I would
every day.

I assure you it is not
because I am lazy,
although I can be,
but rather because
I am waiting to milk
every ounce of life
out of the day.

If I wrote you in the morning
my words would always be
be bold speaking of how
comfortable my bed is so early
and how I wish you were here with me.

If I wrote you in the afternoon
far too often I would write
in a more traditional fashion
of how I see so many people
and you are greater to me
than any of them.

If I wrote you in the evening
I would without meaning
subtly convey my weariness
towards the world and that
I long for your vibrant energy
to give me strength to start again.

But when I write you in the middle of the night,
when I feel alive of my own accord,
I can share with you the spirit
of this small fraction of life
and how it is always shifting,
constantly draggin me down
and pushing me back up
and how despite all of it,
you are the last thing I think of
so that I may ensure pleasant dreams.

I walk outside and see
no sign of the wilderness
I grew up in. No sign
of open fields and wild game.

Though many marvel at the
world we live in, I know it is
not the life meant for me.

My soul yearns to breath open air.

I can no longer bear
this civilization so consumed
with greed and capital.

I long to feel the earth
beneath my feet.
I want a reason to wipe
the sweat from my brow.

The road will be long and fraught with peril,
but that land not yet claimed calls to me
like the sun calls to the day.

To deny it
would be to spend life
un-alive.

The day has been long
but the road has an
unusual peace about it.

Lights fly past like stars
and even if I was thoughtful
enough to wish, these are
not the sort to oblige.

Home is almost upon me
and I am grateful.

As thoughts of sleep
invade my thoughts
they are interrupted.

Rubber burns
metal twists
bones break
blood spills,
and the stench of whiskey
stumbles away into the dark.

As the cold washes over me
I cannot help but to think
of you and how I wish
I could have held you one last time,

but these stars are not
the kind to oblige.