“She tasted like what I would compare discovering lost treasure to, while being wrapped up in the vague scent of cigarettes and vanilla.


And by the end of the night, we were skin on skin, on skin and more skin, just around the corner.
 Breaking down barriers with our own finger tips.

She felt like she was made to be touched; igniting nerves in my hands that I never even knew existed.”

I used to assume I was subtle shades of blue-
Simple hues,
Unprepared for complexity.

But oh God,
I turn red when you look at me
And I catch your eyes lingering
Longer than you'd like to admit
As if you're a wanderlust traveler
Discovering borderlines

I turn red
When your fingertips trace me
And start to imitate this ocean of sheets;
Curling around me
Pulling me underneath

I turn red
When your lips trail embers onto my skin
And light me up
Like I'm the burning end
Of all your cigarettes

But do you inhale me the same way?
Darling, do I live in your lungs longer
Than a few seconds of smoke
Or do you just like seeing the color red
Written all over me?

When I'm with you, I feel volcanoes burst and lava run over popping candies and bits of fresh flowers. I feel stars crashing against each other on national highways and sparks fly to the nearby pond and eventually die. I feel dust settling in the craters that your body has magnificently carried since inception. I feel the blood flow on battlefields and words flow on blank sheets. I feel masterpieces being written in red and unread books being burnt and shred. I feel light unfold in a garb of you and wings being buried in the hefty snow. I feel meteors flashing as they skim through the night sky and flowers opening amidst a wildfire I feel everything so intensely, so deeply but ******* it, I'm allergic to dust and the mere sight of blood is enough to knock me out of my consciousness. But I feel each word, each syllable and each spark of a dying star. You often come close to me and I  know physical closeness has never been my forte but when you touch my collarbones and breathe down my chest, you become my kryptonite. You're not my lighthouse, you're my storm and I've never felt happier drowning in rage of the tempest. And so today, I only wanted you to know that when I say I love you, what I really mean is that I wish there was a stronger word to describe us.

Guided by the stars,
a better life,
a safer life.
Their new world worth
the journey and its dangers
for their progeny.

We try to keep things as they are,
ruled by fallacies, and fears
of their strange languages,
faiths, mythologies.

Harsh voices shout with menaces,
'Send them home from whence they came
to their hollow caustic lands.
We should keep our own traditions,
Angles, Saxons, Celts and Jews.'

At first I thought you were just a friend
Then we touched
A friendly way--
This happened every day
Then one day you held on--
Would you hold on if I was yours?
And you were mine?
I see you in the halls,
and sometimes you say hi,
or sometimes don't notice me.
Your three years my senior,
and we see each other almost every day.
Inside and outside of school,
if only we could have time alone, to talk, to pretend I am home,
in your arms.
So I'll keep holding on,
to your hand,
until I know for sure.
This is the ends