Like the time you gave me
an extra sheet  
and it was like every night
we would sleep
together.
Sweetly slipped amidst
late August's humid heat,
scent surrendered, greeting me
fragrantly, I breathe.
Between the kiss of fiber's weave,
I dream of how our lips meet,
likewise, underneath, silently;
find their way within the dark,
and wordlessly speak
in spite of distant train's
nighttime howling, screech, and screams;
us, entwined upon your rooftop,
framed by moonlit fringes of trees.
I drift into enraptured  
euphoria so deep,  
beside my violently
disordered debris,
in just the slightest touch and tease,
my vagrancy I leave.

I want someone to make love to my intellect.... Go-Down on my intelligence..... Kiss-Deeply my brilliant mind..... ****-******* the **** of my emotions..... Ram-Deeply inside my thoughts...... Slow-Grind my dreams...... Speak- Sweet-Peace into my soul.....and make my spirit ***..... Completely captivating my body as they sway between the pages of my mind. Between The Pages Of My Mind

I am not a number
I am not 2200
or 3.3
I am not this these things you claim me to be

I am not a number
I am not Candidate #15392701
or Profile 235
I am real... I am alive

I am not a number
I am not 8/10 on a good day
or a 5/10 when I don't care
There's a mind and soul where you believe is bare

I am not a number
I am not what you need me to be
I am everything you wish to be
I am ... infinity

I said:

          Love is without  e g o  . .
   but it comes with  s e l f   r e s p e c t.

And so, I said it.  
Just to defend my ego. .
We are but the same,
So do not weep
Even a single tear,
Or a single sigh
We'll just call it  " q u i t s "

This is not love, indeed.

At least you're happily married.
Maybe it's all just a test.
Have you thought about changing your diet?
You'll just have to have lots of ***.
At least you can still go on dates.
Remember you're both very young.
Make the most of it while you still can.
Pregnancy isn't much fun.
Sometimes parenting *****.
You've got enough on your plate.
Weekends are ruined by kids.
Perhaps it's a good thing to wait.
I've heard there are pills that can help.
At least you can sleep through the night.
Perhaps it's not the right time.
It looks like you're coping alright.
It took us a year to conceive.
I can see why you feel so depressed.
I know you've been trying for longer.
The main thing is not to get stressed.
Your condition is really quite common;
I've got it and so does my friend.
God blessed me with two healthy children -
It'll all work out in the end.

Hope is the last refuge
of the broken and bruised
the painfully confused
who feel ill-used
yet hold on to
a chance to renew
the positive that is
long overdue.

Hope is a smile
that breaks tears
causing some to fall
and others to disappear.
It is a fool’s game
of poor predictions,
bets placed from
bad positions
but still sustain
the lost
and unforgiven,
those painfully driven,
living in the dreams
of what good things
tomorrow might bring.

Hope is a trinket
saved despite the need to eat
so, that when this homeless man meets
his long lost loved
he can give that gift
to the man he misses.
It is a warm spot on
a sidewalk vent,
a hand offering two dollars,
a stranger offering conversations
to break the cold blindness
of this windy winter loneliness.

Hope is daylight
to a prisoner who
moves to make things better
in an unfair system,
an institution
that tries to turn them
into numbers,
less than human
equal to dollar signs.
It is consuming all that bull
running down that rodeo clown
goring him to the core
and making it out
of that gated door
before idiots slam you
back in again.

Hope is a good ear
and a mouth shut
someone who hears
what other people
need so badly to say.

Hope is the lessons
that I have learned and lost
found and forgot
given and taken.
Whether I was right or mistaken
fool or genius
hope is the stream that
swims between us
in shared language,
in shared body movements,
in shared history.
It is the energy
that directs us towards
better days for
all people.

Hope is good
not necessarily
making its lack evil
but it is what people
need to get by,
a reason to stay alive.

Hope is transitive,
equal to what we do
to make dreams reality.

Ultimately, hope is the promise of
compassion yet to come.

.
My window frames me in reflection,
I gaze out to the snowy mountains
Beyond myself, yet before such places
You have run to, it has been so long,
Now comes another new winter, I see
Snow drifts reaching, winds to the sky,
High atop the autumn white mountains
Paler than loneliness, white as my hair.