All I want to do is talk
About your day,
Hear about the dress you bought and
Other things than should mean nothing
But once that you start
It's like the work of Shakespeare,
Just listen and see your beautiful smile
See those perfect eyes.

All I want to do is walk
And hold your hand,
Feel your warmth during the cold November days,
Feel your skin against mine.

All I want us to make you feel
Like the only one that truly matters.
Make you feel like you belong
Make it known that your not broken.
I know you been hurt before but
I'm willing to change myself for you.

But when I try to get to you I don't even get a respond.
When you don't think I'm looking I see you with someone else. But all I still want to do is talk.

To stretch my every being
Fatigue
Doubt
Fear
Genius
Courage
Love
To know the limits of cobbled streets
Where the footsteps of so many vanish
Living life
Not questioning existence
Only feeling their hearts
Not counting debts among friends
Holding love in my arms
Weeping as I bury my family
Without anger as the divide is no longer my concern
Smiling as a song becomes life
Believing without question
Accepting without remorse
Experience without regret
For  the whole of the past is not what tomorrow can  be
But within the worry that ignores my inner peace
I know you
And as I wait for you
I wonder if what I fear is having you in my life
Or you being the love of his

laugh because you burnt the toast and spilled the juice
cry because your book has come to an end
sleep when you are tired
and awaken when you are rested.
cradle your lover as if you were a child, yet again
wear old tacky sweaters that are a little too snug
and sip hot cocoa by the fire.
sing in the shower, no, perform in the shower
believe in fairytales and love at first sight
run with your dogs
and pay your bills on time.
kiss with tongue
write a song,
and then sing it on karaoke night at your favorite bar
call your family
and learn to live again.
-learn to live again // a.s.

my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines