Forgive the night, my dear.
She thinks herself a romantic as she extinguishes your flame, believing her own stars and moon can reignite your stolen fire.

Forgive the night... For she knows not what she does.
She is unaware that her moon's light is not its own, and her stars that burn are slowly dying.

i don't believe in extremes
to follow the belief
that one has to be something
and not the other
is absolutely absurd
or at least somewhat absurd
because i don't believe in extremes

when you told me you loved me
every part of me
my twists and turns
and the sharp curbs of my dark alleys
where i keep the real monster
i scoffed
brushed it off
like the momentary dust
that, i believed, mimicked your sentiment

but when you came looking for me
when i was intoxicated
with something strange
not just alcohol
two hours before the sun started to rise
i looked at you and i swear
i swear
i had to catch myself
because i thought of something
only ***** gave my brain courage to think
i never would have thought this
before you

see, i never believe in extremes
well...
believed

It was a quiet afternoon of reminiscing
Nostalgia lingered in the sunlit air
intermingling with the sweet aroma of coffee
as I sipped and leaned back in my chair

˜
He walked up to me as I sat by the window
I waited to see what he wanted to say
“Your skin is the color of my mocha’, he smiled.
‘Just a notch deeper than your café au lait.’

°
With his jet black hair and Mediterranean eyes
And a physique worthy of a prize winning stallion
His confident air and his subtle smirk
He had to be greek, or maybe a charming Italian

˜
Long hair in a messy bun that didn’t care
jeans ripped in strategic places
His gaze never left my quizzical eyes
obscuring everyone else’s faces

°
He waited for me to respond
mere seconds since his saunter
Forever engraving in my mind,
This coffee shop encounter…