when she kissed him, she could taste
the coffee on his lips,
and the hints of nicotine on his tongue.
she could smell herself;
her perfume buried deep in the lines on his body,
reminding her where she'd been.
as they kissed she heard their breath
combine together in time, as one,
no longer separate. the same person.
behind her eyelids, stars collided
over and over again, psychedelic patterns
tracing themselves deep in her skin like scars.
and the butterflies in her stomach,
the tingling of her lips and his hands on her back
drew her back to reality - drew her back to him.

we write things down and keep them away
to hide how we feel, we vent,
and it looks like we bottle it up
and it causes confusion.

we will love you the same way we love
the books we write, the poems we weave;
as though you are our creation,
and as though we can preserve you by keeping you on a page.

not a lot will live up to the world
that we live in in our heads, the fantasies
we concoct to create a story,
so unlike the real world.

*but because of these worlds, we can help
create a life for ourselves with a place for you,
with strong hopes and aspirations
and we are always faithful to the ideas that we have.

I am the bitterness of ***** streaming down your neck,
and you are the sweetness of caramel. Smooth, sultry,
enticing.
I am black coffee on a stark, bleak Autumn-Winter morning,
frowning faces and angry remarks lingering on the tips
of tainted tongues, broken glass and empty bottles
clinking quietly on a rickety shelf,
ready to crash down and fall.
You are camomile tea on a Spring evening, smiling, sipping,
loving comments whispered in the ear of someone you love,
something whole and full, ready to cushion the fall
of someone broken.
You are much more than you think you are,
and you make me more than just bitter and broken.