She has the spirit of a wolf that belongs to every man
Built a pack and conquered all crowns
Hides silently in every closet, worn as dress exquisitely covered with thorns
She gathers all with just a whisper, and rules over with a simple tug of the string

Her lips on mine,
can't help but fantasize.
Imagining her angel eyes,
whether they're real or just a disguise,
keeps my head in the skies
and tucks me in tight,
a loving lullaby
that sings me to sleep each night.

The best poems avoid eye contact.

Just before you find their rhythm,
catch their direction,
they dance away,
and you watch their beauty,
leaving

you full of wanting
wishing
you knew the steps
hoping
you might keep up
wondering
where they led
leaving
you to tap your feet,
missing
every third or fourth beat,
kidding
yourself that you too
could be sliding, shuffling
and maybe grasping the sway,

but they dance away,
and you stay,
while your eyes follow.

She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
like secrets.
She will take them out
like postcards
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
eyes close
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that  
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.

The tune
will carry her.

Like it did
the times when
voices broke
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings
would snap
and hurt.

Soft skin
And fluffy hair
His personality
Rare

A boy I barely knew
Lost in his own world
Found himself in his writing

Picked up his pen
And the words flew

Black and white comes too easily
Forgets to see past his shadow
I try and remind Tiempo
When Fate has time

A friend made
Not so breezily

Curls and deep thoughts
Late night poems sent
Back and forth
I’m thankful for my poet friend

God-send?

Let’s begin.