You are my tuned radio when I go to sleep
You are my alarm when I have to wake
You compose my words when you are here
I'm here when you are always near
You r the silence of screaming waves
As noisy as the sea gulls are for food
You are the footprints in the sand dunes
As it's going to follow you to our home
You are the sculpture of a sand artist
Which settles down in hours is where I lay
You are the solitude of my lips
Where you rest your uttering heartbeats
You are the warm breeze on my shoulders
While my palm holds your longing fingers
Your hair is a cool shadow of a leafy tree
While I hide in breathing behind your ears
You are the moon sliding out of the window
In a calm starry night sharing a pillow
As I rest my hands on your navel
You breathe gently, turn slightly, and kiss me lightly
I will wake you up with whispering confession of love
Under the soft morning rays, let’s replenish quietly
And get lost into the silence of our hearts

On the east end, there's a chamber
where the weak end barely
a cut beyond Ms. Short;
can you blame her?

Vigilant as hawks, there's a scent
that the crowd gawks over
on their way to pay for ******;
here the filthiest repent.

On the pavement, there's a clue
as to another payment made
by loyal patron;
we're left to wonder, who?

In Whitechapel, there's a tale
of crimson gravel split
by thick-skinned knees;
their owner has since gone stale.

I’m in love with the memory of you.
We tap dance on the neural connections that connect my brain,
to my soul.
Tapity- tap- tap.
But only on those hot summer nights.

You kisses taste like moonshine
and your arms in mine, make music.
Tapity-tap-tap.

I fell for you where
brown eyes met blue.

Where
first date dinners
met
third date kisses.

Where camouflage and bullets
met
pearls and lipstick.

Where moon-lit dances
met
tear stained airports.

And where friendly fire, met you.

I got that tapity-tap-tap on my door,
I fell to the floor
and now here I am, tapity-tap-tapin’ my shoes
tryin’ to get back to you.

But death marches to its own beat,
tapity-tap-tap

If there is reincarnation,
I’m jealous other people get to
have you in their lives,
and I don’t anymore.

My heartbeat echoes, tapity…

tap…

…tap.

Tapity….

tap…

tap.

You left your mark
On my bedpost again,
Beautiful and
fresh with sin.

we danced under
a haze of ignorance
just hoping to hold again
holding up my hope with this.

You string me along
by the week,
I'm feeling little and meek
Without you by my side and then

You left me again
With a mark
on my bedpost
Filled up with sin.

How I wish that my eyes shone
Like a garden of delight
Free of time I've spent alone
And every stagnant night

There are times when I am she
Though such perfection tends to fade
Know that I cannot always be
This woman I have made

I do not claim to know much
Though I'm told each day is a lesson
Yet every hour seems
To layer question upon question
I find it sadly strange
That by a truce I'm worn thin
My heart finds itself confused
With nothing left to win
That night I walked away
One thing I should have said-
You were nothing more
Than a warm body in my bed
Maybe then I wouldn’t
Have to watch your hands entwine
With the silk palms of another
While I stare emptily at mine.

Your fingers formed the words I sought,
Yet it seemed as though the tongue forgot
A coward's shield, of silver and glass
Protecting long after battle's pass
How may glory relinquish pain-
If victory's honor should wax and wane?

Like winter's sun, your affection is fleeting
And stretched by time, hearts slow their beating
This tale told - more often by some
The ones who call for love to come,
But just as threshold meets its cross
Their cries fall silent, for feared loss

Bathing in the solemn wintery lights of the city that bears down on me like a behemoth from some great unknown celestial body, separate from our comforting little universe, my thoughts turn to you.
Dreaming of our odyssey in the stars and the way auburn locks fell across your rosy cheeks. Imagining the texture of your chin as I caress your solitary freckle with the back of my right index finger. Oh it was a long summer, the one in which we met. A summer that lasted several literal seasons whilst the metaphorical summer illuminated my life for an obscure length of time.
I observe this fickle city on a daily basis, conjuring your smile on the face of every denizen that so happens to walk my way. A frivolous glow from such a radiant being as yourself is enough to bring such a giant as myself to his poor lonesome knees.
Alas in this city of thousands I am but a rejected vagrant, captive in my quarrelsome, dissonant and feeble mind. Star-crossed and foreordained to remember you as pixels on a monitor. A distance comparable to that of the distance from Earth to Kepler-22b. I hyperbolize of course but apart from physical distance we are sequestered in many ways. Ways in which I could never bring myself to address.

I shall cease my mournful ruminations and rise from this numbing wall, the one that runs the length of the fountains and the square. I need to forget you my dear. I fear so much that no person could ever compare to the seraph I have contrived in this dense mind of mine. The angel of your impersonation, the nymph-like mother of the world and your doppelganger. That person exists not, while you most certainly do exist; although not simultaneously in my own immediate existence. I know I idealise you and for that I beg your pardon. I'm always aware of my own faults.

You broke the security of my aromanticism, destroying every notion of 'Love' I may have ever held. The word still evokes stark contradictions that war within my ever suffering head. The gaunt women that slip by me in the unfortunate  street pass muster for a smile but receive little in the way of reciprocation from myself. Lugubrious, stubborn old man that I am. The curved women that remind me of you, holler and howl at their young children, berating the psychosis of my youth. I looked to you in my adolescent naivete for the elusive mother to the world. That true Goddess that bore us, each and every one, in physicality and indeed spirituality. I could not tell you how I long for your tender touch on my tearful cheek.

Oh but I shall saunter here in my tumescent loneliness, betwixt streetlights, postboxes, houses and my fellow meandering, soulless shades. Dreaming of a day I am allowed to feel amorous once more.