There are no pictures of the forgotten child
just second hand memories
of a police station handmedown
and too many mothers.

There are no echoes of my smile to be found in family albums

No book to lovingly hold the dates of firsts unwitnessed by love.

Yellowed paper bears witness to my existence, a name given, typed above that of an unknown Father and a mother too new to bear my needs.

There are no tales of first days and birthdays, no tears of joy at my arrival, nor at my loss.
Just me, a girl with no past and a stolen future, screaming at shadows while clutching at straws, hoping that someday my face will be reflected by that which I did not create.

She has a smile like a winter sun,
you want to warm yourself in it all day and miss it at night.

The sound of her voice,
is like a summers breeze rolling over the plains

Eyes like the old oak tree,
bearing wounds where young love have plagued it

Slap on a pair of shorts and an old shirt,
then you will get the picture of a farm girl ready to work.

Put her in a night evening dress and make up,
then you will have the head turner that all men wish for.

Slip off the dress,
then … well, you only wish to be the one in front of her

Bring the life storms,
as long as she is my mine and I can bathe in her smile,

Come floods of tears,
as long as I can be safe in the old oak tree

Come cold nights,
as long as I have a breeze to look forward to.

Time and again this illusion takes hold,
The vision of your hand in mine to hold.

Your hair creeping out behind your ear,
Tempting my fingers to tuck them away.

Your lips breaking into a smile, teeth n' all,
Radiating my face with it's pure light.

but,

alas.

Illusions are all for naught, a pipe dream.

For your hand is not mine to hold,
It is his, the man I envy and hate.

The one tucking away your hair is not me,
It is him, the man that makes my fist itch.

Your sweet smile with teeth n' all,
Bathes the boy in all I wish for.

Writing is like talking to a beautiful woman. Pelt her with shoddy words and badly composed sentences and she slaps you and walks away. Splash her full of ink and you only get a cheap **** with ripped stockings and too many scratched out tattoo's.

But,

Caress her with your pen, stroke her with loving splendor, decorate her with words and sentences like sparkling diamonds and you have her attention. Use old pick up lines and you entertain her, for a while. Be yourself and speak from the soul and you entertain her for a life time.

Ease my mind with searching kisses
roam my body, steal my breaths
trace my curves with fleeting fingers
******* life, my little death.

Whisper pleasures laced with poison
there I'll follow in their wake
weaving dreams at once thought daring
laying waste to passions ache.

Limitless I lay before you
bathed in alabaster glow
my eyes aflame with reckless wanting
to be the only love you know.