To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it,
as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately,
which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem,
sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending.
So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves,
I can feel them clenching in my gut.  
As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a *******, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance,
my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed,
frankly they are getting out of control,
as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself,
are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place.
Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you,
even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much.
I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin,
naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch.
Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time,
I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough.
I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises,
representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation.
Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really,
and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace,
breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making,
which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly,
and the skip in my step as I head home.
So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear,
I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? ,
in the hope that you might just say yes...

Its the way she talks about the things she is passionate about that makes me fall even harder for her
I love how she doesn't care about her appearance and how she has gotten me to focus less on mine
I can't help but smile whenever I think back to the moments when I am with her
She always seems to impress me with some hidden talent or personality feature
She is never boring or original, even her family can surprise me at the most random of times
Whenever I am with her she makes everything seem like it is okay
I stress over a lot of things and no matter what situation it is she can make me look at it from a different view
I love her so much but I fail to say it enough
So even if she never knows what I think about her or even if we don't last, I just hope she knows that she has made me into a better person and that I hope she will keep changing me for the better in the future

Every once in a while,
I put my hand on my heart,
When I feel it hurting,
And I tell it not to worry -
I reassure it that all the scars
It often collects
Will one day be healed.

Beyond these unyielding doubts
cast upon me like rust-splintered chains
haunting my every thought
my every breath
there is reason
for my existence
the strength of which carries me beyond the fog
from which these chains are cast

there is purpose in my struggle
a light that burns unrelenting
searching the summits
riding the storms to their end
darkness be ******
the rain and wind of change
only serve to make me stronger
more determined
to write these thoughts
that lay in waiting
for those willing

I remain a poet
in this age of the dying word

She
didn't cry
& yet
I was wet,
water
teased from
evaporated
steam
stirring in
deep wells
of stoic
eyes
dreaming
of a
sunrise,
just one day
she thinks
when she
will not wake
with the salt
of the sea
lapping
against
her lids.