Our meeting in July was fitting,
My heart sizzled in your filtered gaze.

The dimming of August only made me fall deeper, like the pink summer sun setting goodbye, while my young, naive mind welcomed such overwhelming, engulfing insanity.

The crisp September air allowed my throbbing, charred heart to cool, but the delicious burns still stung, still irresistible.

My conquered heart fell deeper and deeper into your Chasm of Comfort each time a matured October leaf swept down into her Crevice of Cozy hibernation. Will she awake in Spring?

I could heat the entire November city with a single sudden pulse of sweat you cause every time my name is on your tongue.
Sometimes malevolent.
Sometimes benevolent.

Blistering winds come our way,
Snow falls on the tips of our noses,
Warmed by Eskimo kisses,
December only seems to please us.

I want every coming month to be defined by you and your Entrancing, Empyrean presence.

I want to sleep forever in your Chasm of Comfort.

So hold me.

I must never wake.

you make your vision plain in every word
the pulse of nature moving in full heat
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

nothing is clear all eyesight is quite blurred
the trip is over none will come to greet
you make your vision plain in every word

since on your tongue all truth has been conferred
but this hard fact we're made of bone and meat
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

proclaiming season's changes have recurred
but time is motion every year more fleet
you make your vision plain in every word

including those that we have not yet heard
break out of silence still our peace is sweet
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

to wake the morning and to cry absurd
notes of redemption for each empty street
you make your vision plain in every word
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

A friend so good before,
Turned into a foe.
Now, he holds a cellphone,
And wears wrinkled brows.

Comes his textmate's reply,
And he would flash a smile.
But when I dare to talk,
He would give a tiger look.

No more time for a conversation,
Just busy pressing the keys  of his phone.
Oh, I wish I had a magic,
Break the phone and make him sick.

His money instead for the food,
He will use it for the load,
And feels so uneasy,
When words "low battery" display.

Chores at home left undone,
Waiting for a hardworking someone,
'Cause the "busy" person assigned,
Is tired of thinking a nonsense reply.

Dear friend, what have you got?
You know you changed a lot,
Have you taken the "poison"
Of your stupid cellphone?

Wanton breeze,
                          playing
                       ­            Romeo,
                             chases-
                                     you,
                                lifts
                      ­                 your
                                            skirt
          ­                                                up
                                    making
              ­                   me jealous.

Tell me baby it's cold outside,
Tell me it's me you must be beside.
I'll be fine,
Just tell me you're mine.
I know the weather is so frightful,
But your smile keeps me delightful.
Just hold me close,
And all the way home I'll be warm.
But baby its oh so cold outside.

Arresting artificial bloom from a  make believe garden,
Oh! magalomaniacal face of ill gotten glamour,
ribald queen of the kitsch, with endless variety in store,
age, cannot wither your, unmistakable garish taste-
or sadistic delights, each you do organize is outrageous,
than the one before, no doubt, how do you manage?
                  
I'll forget all those in an instance, but, that kiss, oh! that,
the one you gifted, to show you were pleased utmost,
stealthily away from the eyeshot of your posse of lovers,
other cannibals and party animals, under the darkened staircase,
was the last godforsaken straw;
 what a poor camel can do? if you so desire,
beggars, never were the choosers, you'd tell yourself,
in a self congratulatory note,
                      that much I am aware, my dear tormentor!