I didn't come here to cry,
but you're in every crack on this street
making it harder then before.
We invented the winter
to fill my mouth with clouds
and watch trees sprout from bare branches.
I have a book full of poems,
34 about you;
empty words of a cluttered mind.
Everything worth saying
is trapped on the corners of your lips
below the sun of east Portugal
by the bay that burned your feet.
I watched a moth land on your eye lid;
you hardly even flinched.
The sewing machine in the sky
that held us close can't click forever,
neither can the clock on the mantle
and I fear we are running out of time to say
I'm sorry
and take back each rock we threw
before we forget each others faces.
Remember
the things we smoked,
and the love we made one Tuesday.
The feelings we shared as coldly
as the hands we never grasped.
You slid my bones from cellophane skin,
and threw them back to the shore,
just please give me back to Ohio
when October knocks on the brick between my veins.
Remember my eyes?
You took them on your back when you left,
and haven't seen them since.
I want to press  my cheek against your chest,
feel you breathing like so many times before.
If I could have one wish
I would run as far as it took to look into your eyes
just one last time,
and hope to god you notice.

Sometimes it pays to be hurt,
To suffer a broken heart
To be shut out of light
To cry through a long night.
Sometimes it pays to fail,
To suffer the ignominy of defeat
To be left with a broken sail
To make a glorious retreat.
Sometimes it pays to know,
From the endless race you ran,
Though suffering many a blow,
You emerged a stronger man.

My dear I’m so sorry but,
I must confess that,
I’ve had a love affair,
With flirtatious Mango.

Though you rather not hear it,
I feel like I must disclose,
How plump
And juicy
And wet
Everything was
A sticky mess.

He tricked my tongue,
Sent me into shivers,
Cooling me down,
From summer’s heat.

He hit the spot,
Made me feel whole,
But I consumed him,
****** him dry,
Spit the pit out,
And he never really recovered.

But for that matter,
Neither did I,
The taste of untamed passion
Is still ripe in my mouth.

one. he will see right past the clever disguises and camouflage that you use to deter the world from your weary self. he will see directly into your character; into your heart and your soul. he will like what he sees, and he will want more. he will write about it.

two. after writing about your soul until it has exhausted his own, he will surface for air. there he will notice your body. he will be mesmerized by its curves and valleys. he will want to bathe in your very presence, as if the radiance of your body will make him think the way you think. he will write about it.

three. he will dream up a future for the two of you, a hopelessly impossible love story with just the right amount of heartbreak. he will be dissatisfied when life doesn't follow his carefully scripted plot. he will realize he has crafted you into the perfect antihero. he will write about it.

four. he will attempt to find a way to immortalize you. he will want the idea of you to live on like a musty echo rocking the surface of our dry and cavernous earth. he won't accept the fact that his darling was never made for eternity. he will write about it.

five. he will wonder if his words have corrupted you. the portrait he has made barely resembles you at this point. he will not know what to say to you anymore, because unlike the words on the page, you left. he will write about it.

six. he will ponder life without you. even things like grocery shopping and brushing teeth will be different without you by his side. he will struggle, but his heart will heal. he will write about it.

In an eggshell    
          The universe gives birth to itself

She purrs her r's to ****** the cosmos
     With a spell of linguistics

That we're all humming along to

I'm speaking in tongues
     Bowing down in worship
     vibrating the outside of my mouth

This is the new sensation
     Her aura's stimulation
     Like she read me like a book

Once she felt my touch of grace
     Convulsing hips
     and transcending taste
    
Some paradise of infinity lost in karma's translation
     Where we all come back around together
     Until we're light again
    
somewhere
     in time

She bursts

I stared down fine art to bring her back
    Big banging our broken hearts
     back to the start of stars aligned
          before we were gods
          before the chaos
          
     Scrambled back        
In an eggshell

We lay under a tented plush
Skin so warm
A boiling blush
Your smooth voice
Lower to a honey hush
You whispered
Childs play in your eyes
As do I
You lean in, I push up
Electricity, we light up
Even in the darkest night
We shine brighter
Then the stars we sight
You are burning livelier
I draw you in
And listen
To the sound that beckons
The grown you make
heart quickens
My favorite sounds to listen
Miro I fancy you.
I really do
I just want your whisper

I use to hate the color pink
They would put it on me and start to think
It had a label, told them things
Such a girly girl, who wears pink

In my struggle to be set free
I forgot to really see
See the vibrant smiling thing
Until it draped itself
On olive skin
No amount of sparkle
Overwhelming pink
Could start to hide
His masculine side
Broad shoulders merely framed

Smile lines and chocolate eyes
All seem to make me weak
He is inside
Wrapped up tight
In the most brilliant color
pink

Her little yellow face
Her week voice it shakes
Frail thin waste
Wasting, fear lit
Eyes find
She is lovely
Sweet, divine
But time runs
Her eyes closing
Curtains fall
But she is still posing
Laughter’s fled
Smiles wear
Eyes tear up
Im far from here.
I love you
Heart ache