she sits propped up against the wall,
sleek curves and long necked
elegant and beautiful,
and she's my first love,
and I'll love her 'til I die
of this I'm certain,
because she's the sparkle in my eye
I cradle her in my arms,
let my fingers coax her sounds
music to my ears, love songs
and nostalgia of the years
she's my first love,
and I'll love her 'til I die
of this I'm certain
because she's the sparkle in my eye
I cradle her in my arms,
and I've never loved another more
I'll always hold her close to me,
my angel, my guitar

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
    So true a fool is love that in your will,
    Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

loneliness consumed you
while you were busy finding distractions
your eyes sunk deeper, your nights darker
you found a marker and wrote it out in black ink, you left half a cup of tea by the sink,
one final reminder that you could never clean up right, your scars were not quite healing
men came and went like hopscotch manic feelings, daily warfare, gentle as a tide though
you would let them in just to let them go
crafted a plan to **** yourself
because you didn't know anything else
but the bottom of a bottle you swore you didn't drink you spent 11 months sleeping on the brink of death
loneliness consumed you
you took the bad parts, shaped them into something you could swallow and fell in love with the high from your insides eating you alive now you're full of sculptures you gave up on years ago and maps of places, far away, where you'll never get to go
because you're bed ridden and tired, you're only 20 and you did it, you have carved yourself entirely empty

young trees
gaze skyward,
their branches thick
with a visual feast
of floral shish kabob
prepared in sunshine
with a rain marinade,
a treat
of the season.

Separate beds and shades
Of reds. Intimacy is
A ****** handprint.