I worked for a woman,
She wasn't mean--
But she had a twelve-room
House to clean.

Had to get breakfast,
Dinner, and supper, too--
Then take care of her children
When I got through.

Wash, iron, and scrub,
Walk the dog around--
It was too much,
Nearly broke me down.

I said, Madam,
Can it be
You trying to make a
Pack-horse out of me?

She opened her mouth.
She cried, Oh, no!
You know, Alberta,
I love you so!

I said, Madam,
That may be true--
But I'll be dogged
If I love you!

Bean bag wasted dreams,
Legs on your lap,
Making out with a bottle of jack,
My bestfriend is on crack,
Cause life is wack,
I like the awkward faces you make,
& the way you always lick your lips,
After the first sip.
I like the human species,
And how were convinced you can fight with your eyes closed and still win.
Hawks always fly by me, with sad eyes,
They know something about me, that I'll never know. You said, " man I could sleep on you"
Butterfly kisses on bridges of my nose.
Drunk expierences.

Oh, I remember the forgotten romances,
And tragedies of times forgotten,
Unsaid-
When my dear loved one lies next to me.
And why I imagine you,
Not her.
And wish my angels,
For a truthful dream.
And why,
Do I miss you still,
When my dear loved one lies next to me...

You are a poem
Comparing your white skin to paper
Blue veins to blue lines
your story written on you
like the ink on this paper

Love is a strange thing
Like a blind man who is able to foresee all living in and past infinity
Chills they come and then they go
You feel special to one and then you feel hollow  
You feel joy and then you feel sadness
There is so much emotion when you expect only pure happiness
Once you have explored all there is to see
Will you stay right here with me?

They float, slowly
Cascading down
Sifting through the air
Swaying back and forth
When I reach up to touch them,
They move ever so slightly
Away from my grasp
Avoiding my touch
They want to stay
But remain far enough away

What do you do when love dies?
What do you do when the glow in their eyes fades..
When you remember how love drunk you once were,
And hang your head down low in shame.
What are you supposed to do?
Do you tell them the truth,
Or stick around?
Do you share your smile a while longer,
Or express your deepest of frowns?
What if you still love them in a way,
But not in the way you once did.
How do you really know when it's over?

Would it be a cliché
If I say
the element
Of my nightmares
Is mostly her in your arms

Would it be a cliche
If I tell
You made a house
In my thoughts,
A permanent occupant.

Would it be a cliche
If I admit
The first light of day
Seems so heavy on my brows,
Without having you to wake up to.

Would it be a cliché
If I confess
You are the only one I can write about,
My words have a way of evolving
Themselves around you

Would it be a cliche
If my heart aches
At the way you say her name
You voice so gentle, barely concealing
The longings you have.

Would it be a cliche
If I say
The main element
Of my nightmares
Is her in your arms