Listening with all senses is the key
But all picks do not always fit all lock
Tell me what your heart sings
Reading minds is a matter of habits
Failing are chances to comprehend

Tackling a friendship is like an ocean
We have only to choose a direction
But as it is with the universe of time
We may travel a straight line away
But will cross paths again, one day

And yet, I have broke resistances before
Hated as I walked over the threshold
As I pose like an irresistible dream
Not truly aware of my affect
Or to an untrained eye it may seem

Complicated are my actions in a day
But predictable lacks spontaneity
Bubbling through outward placidity
Holding on only to silent lucidity
Never seeing the unique nature of the mystery

Dark pathways harbor broken dreams
But as the clam steals one grain of sand
Torn dreams may yet become pearls
It all depends on how long you hold them inside

The ocean does not stop moving so the sky can catch its breath
The night never waits for pupils to dilate to the black
Nor does the wind stop blowing so the ocean can rest
Just as the day does not wait for eyes to open for the sun to rise

As I stand over the ruin, the deepest dark, swallowing black,
Hope is at the mercy of a terrible minds acts.

Torn dreams in scared memories with such a devastating array,
An inner darkness so pure, ripping the guts of black holes away.

With an anger that burns like the center of the earth, so hot,
Waiting to spill out to melt your sweetest, hopeful thoughts.

The heart bleeds void in the darkened soul, your irresistible hatred of my iridescent glow,
The unstoppable will that impedes blood, so cold, with icy fingers that drain your soul, slow.

Your ultimate despair is my inevitable strength, I exuberantly feed on your passionate fear,
If you would only entertain a certain parley with me, I have a seductive secret my dear.

If not for formality, you would have already been devoured, but you're the delicate flower,
So crystal and pristine, I wait to bath inside your light, only increasing my power.

Over places deep within you, so beckoning to my dark, where I hold time,
You may have peace in the day....but in the night...your *** is mine!

The aroma so sweet
With its burgundy hue
Drinking in her scent
While her vision eludes view

Veins pump with intensity
Red music plays its rhythm
For no normal humans propensity
Heart beats to him like a marching drum

Feeling her quickened emotions
Drawing closer with each step
She tries to cause commotion
As he quick and softly bites into her neck

The slowest embrace of ****** passion
Leaving one more lively than the other
He hates to leave her in this fashion
But vampires rarely take on lovers

So as he turns to dash away
A shadow in the night
It may not be the day
But a stake through the heart leaves ash in her final sight.....

if you only could taste me
now,
my lips would say to yours,
the poetry of
"pancakes with too much butter
slipping off like young men's
clothing"
and
"frigid air before the sun has woken
latched on my teeth like drowning men
holding onto rocks"

you'd ******* dreams
of sneaking out midsummer,
(always my favorite, when nights were merely darker echoes of
the day)
of running down roads with black
feet,
in the disguise of a naked crow.
flying in the heat with a pistol in her black fingers.
that was the first
                      time
                            id
                              ever
                                   dreamed
                                              of
                                                 a
                                                  gun.
i'd swear you'd taste the blood-like twang of fired bullets like shards of metal on my lips, too.

My life is mostly the same some
Times I feel the need to
Spice it up
I took it before I left my house
The ride to
School was average. Small talk
With my Mother little does she know how tricked my body is
A small screen lit up my dark restless night. And the little green vessels meet the average sunrise
Everything is average
Zoning out as usual, average until suddenly .
My head how it spins like a Saturday night of drinking. My head how it bobs about like a Sunday morning regret.
The choir sings the preacher commands me to repent my sins
I can't take it back. And I wouldn't
Id rather stare at the walls all night depriving myself of the one thing my body wants most and fight it in the morning
Little does the preacher know that I don't give a **** about what's in my textbook. The congregation is engaged in the service little do they know that world war 3 has begun in my head
Blood fills the pews battle smells permeate
Personal poisons are subjective and on this morning,,ironically,,nyquil is my choice thank god for liquicaps the syrup is god awful

I want you for the way you feel
I want you for your grammar skills
I want you for the way you love
I want you for the tightest hugs
I want you for the love accept
I want you for fighting your regrets
I want you for the depth of your eyes
I want you for the late night cries
I want you for the way I feel
I want you for how you cook meals
I want you for your softest touch
I want you for my heart you clutch
I want you for all of your compassion
I want you in the old time fashion
I want you for the mother you will be
I want you for helping to make a better me
I want you for all the things I never say
I want you for the things we will build day by day
I want you for my times of sorrow
I want you for my every tomorrow
I want you for the good and the bad
I want you even when "we" are all we have
I want you when I can want no more
I want you until I am old and poor
I want you so I can cry when I write
I want you so I can sleep best at night
I want you to share in all of life's pleasures
I want you to see that I love you beyond measure
I want you to be the earth I light every day
I want you to be the source of my happiness displayed
I want you to be my meaning of life
I want you to be my wife!

I always loved your hands.
Not in any kind of lustful way, just the look of them.
I still love your hands, henna-ed and smooth
And so soft- startlingly soft-
If my fingers accidentally brush yours.
I used to marvel when you'd lace your fingers through mine-so casual- as we walked,
At how they felt like moonlight looked.
I love to watch you work, the careful way you do everything
Like it's all art, like it's all important.
Hell, you make a sandwich like you're carving a sculpture
And I find myself watching you, fascinated like always,
And I want to laugh, and I want to tell you you're beautiful.
And my smile turns wry
And I say nothing
Because who thinks of things like that?

I have a favorite photograph from long ago
Of your hands as you were drawing.
They've not changed.
That's why I always ask "Is that ring new?"
Because I catch myself noticing them
The way you might catch yourself absently holding a smooth stone you left in your pocket and forgot was there.
I used to secretly wish that someday you'd draw on me in henna
And I'd have the daring to ask you
To leave a handprint on my shoulder
Like a promise.

I've told you you look like a sculpture, too perfect not to be planned
And
I remember long hours in the museums as a child
Walking through a maze of white porcelain and marble women
Wondering how rock could look softer than my own skin.
I wanted to reach out and touch
See if they would be cold and hard like they should be
Or warm and velvety.
And their hands... So graceful and light-
The sculptors of old strove for perfection
Believing that they had not found it in humanity
Always imagining something smoother, something lovelier, something more delicate and more exquisite.
(You weren't around yet.)

Your hands always reminded me of something from that soaring hall
With all its silky looking statues and its ceiling of cross-paned windows.

So when I sit here, watching Art
Make ham sandwiches
It feels so incongruous.
Something here just doesn't belong.
And I can't tell if it is me or you
But honestly
How many people can say
They have watched Artemis sit down at the counter beside them
As if she has no idea she's divine?