The moon gave up her light to the sun and that's why the moon isn't fully lit. The sun shown his light on the moon cause of what she did for him and he loves her for it, he dies every single night to show his everlasting love for her. She comes to life at night to help people like she live, and she shows the spot light the sun has given her.

I want you, but so much more than
light kisses on sunshine rain and
caresses of sweet caramel.
I want trails of your nails against my back,
bite marks on my collar bone,
mulberry stamps in the expanse of my flesh;
proof of you smeared unto my skin.
I want you to press me against the wall
and whisper sultry words of satin in the
shell of my ear.
I want the fury and the passion of your kiss.
Consume me with the ardency of your urgency,
with the necessity of oxygen drowning man desire-
I want you to breath me in, to drink me like
a fine wine, aged and velvety in the tongue as it
slides down your throat.
I want the danger of adventure as you explore
every crevice of my armor and find the *****
that undoes me.
I want what you can give and so much more.
I'll take whatever you'll give me, but I'll greed
for ever more.

~

Lost within the fire

Lost within the fire
Burning deep inside
Raging like a river
Flames are going wild
Taking in the ashes
Embers at my right
Left to lost forgottens
On this lonesome night

Cower in the corner
Temperatures they rise
Can’t get any farther
Comes as no surprise
Smoke of inhalation
Crowded on the rail
Unknown acts of kindness
Now to surely fail

Pleaded anguished evenings
Hotter still it climbs
What was once a secret
Easy now to find
Take this heart on fire
Quench it with your love
Showers now are looming
Forming up above

Lift me from this feeling
Love me till the end
Tell me it will happen
One more time again
So it no longer lingers
Deep within my soul
Lost within the fire
That I can’t control

In the ***** light of the ***** pipe where the shadows crash into my head,I wander through cracks in the doors of a dream where the lamps lit the way to  a morphine fueled scene.
In the search for perfection I lost my sense of direction and ended up where I began and when the ***** ran through the crack so did I,getting back was the hard part,much harder than starting at the start once again.

The game is one sided,the odds are all weighted and the weight on my back was the way to the crack in the door,I don't play any more.
no pun intended but my dreams are not dramas in courtrooms defended by men in glass wigs performing gigs for the guilty,the tilted and wilted and worn out of humanity,I see the cause and effect of those less than perfect and yet we elect even worse,The revenge of the poppy, the curse,it gets sloppy from now,
So I
shall go back to dine which is better than smoking and wine and my dreams if they come
shall come unbidden and not from the *** or the running of *****.
The cracks in the door are all sealed
The body is sound and the mind begins healing
feeling okay.

I lost my way, I cant find my
way back, I will never return
to that place as I'm lost in paradise.

I thought I belonged, but that
was a lie, for in paradise no one
really belongs we are all lost in
this place.

Paradise is lost to me, I am here,
but I am never found, was I really
here, there, did I belong like you
we take the same path but are
both lost from another, this place
I thought was paradise is really a
place for the lost.

Yup, that's right.

Don't be offended or upset.
It's very environmental,
recycling words.

True, the quality of literacy,
(have mercy on it!)
is getting quite strained
(not-so-good poems
droppeth as the
gentle rain from heaven).

Certain words are grumbling,
talking, overworked and overuse,
in poems that say nothing new
(they got their pride too!).

Rumors of unionizing going around,
increasing the minimum wage
to a passing grade,
and something like
a penny a letter,
and double for words,
not of the English language...

The ringleader I'm told
is the word itself

Words

tired from being in
59,649 poems (plus 1 now)

Death, heartbreak and depression,
scars, cutting and sad,

the most overwrought ones,
the children's beloved,
their never-ending
plastic ones trending,
under the weight collapsing
of boring and from
the pressure of overuse, bending.

The words have brought
the unrisen, alabaster body
of poor dead (oops)

Love (137,207 + 1)

as evidence of this
too long a verbal
season of victory.

Make no mistake,
among the guilty we be,
our sweet tooth
for these miscreants,
documented in black and white,
resting uncomfortably,
among our total of
171,500 words we've purportedly
recorded and employed.

The Writer's Guild,
all a titters, arms, up and akimbo,
the cries of poetry poverty
among the living thundering,
no longer
suffering silently,
ere the mendicancies cries
from Ye Olde York emanating,
seeking contributions
and donations,
minimum on PayPal,,
one whole dollar!

Well I have paid my dues,
much more than one
and much more than once,
would so again, annually,
as I could no more
surcease this gig,
for where to find
another profession that
pays so handsomely?

Let it not go unnoticed
like so many poems
left footed born,
themselves, unread, unnoticed,
that the ever increasing number of

Poets

is a good thing for the universe.

So many new humans each day,
from the black forest of
daily life's lessons emerge
choosing poetry to
conquer life's ailments.

For they bravely
having taking the
road less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference,      
and the world,
a better place for it...

I am trampled upon by
thoughts, they stamped
over me crushing my
reality of what I see

I catch my breath, before
it feels like I am being
pushed to my limits of
thoughts and what is real,
I fight the confusion the
crushing sensation that
like a vice is slowly breaking
my mind.

Thoughts trample me under
foot, I must think slower thoughts
or I will be broken trampled
with confusion of what is really
seen and what I think.

~

Find their hand

Alabaster dreams converge,
neither here nor there,
calling out to one,
finding they respond with a kind hand…happily

Eclipsing hate’s nightmare…patiently

Beyond the window waits hope,
blemished of a drawn curtain
and tempest fears,
which it cries for you…in tears of future joy

Sorrow fuels this hope…relinquishing pain

Reach...for inside a light does flicker,
a soft glow,
calming and peaceful,
beckoning the truth and offering a moment’s peace…quiet solitude

Holding you closely…feel its warmth

For within you lies a heart,
love filled and crafted,
leaping at the word go,
challenging thoughts that bare down…heavily

A friend’s hand helps with the heavy lifting…eternally

Find their hand, it longs your touch,
your smile, your happiness…you

The dew
Was just settling on
The green apple colored grass.

There were
No birds in flight in
The light blue washed sky and the wind had just
Lost its reason to be
Found.

Everything was still.

I see lovers
holding hands and giving each other the look that can only be described as
"the look"
because only those who are out of love are bitterly aware of the sickeningly admiring gaze that one partner gives to the other when they speak  
and only those who are in love are oblivious to the fact that they are giving the look

And I see friends,
friends in love with friendship
friends in love with being with each other
in love with the adventure and the memories
and the comfort and familiarity that comes with knowing each other like the back of your hand

I see individuals
completely, and utterly in love with themselves
the kind of arrogance that is almost admirable
in love with their passion,  their ambition
with their goals and their futures
in love with the potential they know they have and in love with the hope that maybe one day,
they'll be an All-Star
or a politician
or a beautiful poet
or a parent

I see all of these people who are in love and I wonder, are these people really as in love as they claim to be?

And if so, when is it my turn to be in love?