Smoke.
In you breath life
Out you breath death
You dream about kids and wife
But all you get is one last breath

Our faces were less than inches apart.
I’m not a bomb technician so I didn’t know how to diffuse the situation
So instead of cutting wires I cut to the chase
If this action caused an explosion that is a good thing right?
I’m not talking about the kiss in the rain that concludes the story
But one that signals the beginning of A lifetime
I began to close the inches that seemed like trying to Cross an ocean while holding your breath
I didn’t think I could Hold my breath any longer, I thought I might pass out, But that’s when my lips were enkindled by yours
No fireworks shot off, no music was played, no magic fairy dust was sprinkled
But Trust me … this was deeper than any film could portray
Because in that moment my lips were tattooed with an addiction.
I got to open my eyes into yours and know they saw my intentions my perfections and even my imperfections and know you belonged to me.
And only left with the question … do I kiss her again
And the answer is always yes.

I have never written a single poem
that my lovers could understand.

In truth, all my romantic verse is simple,
self-congratulatory applause

for not falling victim
to the virus of sentiment.


I am a gifted liar.