What if love was contagious
Like some sort of disease
Affecting all religions and races
Bringing the world to its knees

Where a cure is never found
Where no one even tries
A disease that for years sticks around
Contaminating all of mankind

From a kind word being said
To a hug when it's needed the most
In hopes it quickly spreads
With everyone being the host

What if love was a disease
And it was highly contagious
No need to put us all in quarantine
Because love is a disease that would save us

I like
Coffee
As a motif
For reasons I don't even know.
I think sometimes it's because wine comes and goes
But Coffee.
Coffee.
Coffee
I have every night.
To keep me up thinking about the
Bitter taste
That life leaves in my mouth.
Sometimes I think that it's coffee,
The one thing I have in common
With the rest of humanity,
That keeps me alive.
Maybe I need to be awake to feel
What coffee does to me
What you don't do to me.
You should do to me.
Coffee.
Coffee doesn't confuse me.
And coffee tastes the same.
And coffee comes
And coffee stays.
And wine.
And people,
They just don't.

I am made up of an entire soul
Completely furnished with potential and with life.
That can love with a love that love has not imagined.
And I have thoughts that rage on like the rain beats against a window in the dead of February.
As the rain greets the Valentine's on their way to their nights I listen to my heart
Beat.
Beat.
Beat against my chest.
The strings of the violin I left at the church play on and on like a love song barely out of tune.
As the G and the D and the A and the E tell me to go
From the church that's too far for me to visit after so much wine.
I might sleep.
I might do a lot of things.
I might even write poetry.
But one thing I'll certainly do is love
with a love that love cannot even fathom.
And my heart may beat out of my chest.
And my lungs may collapse.
But I will love
until my heartstrings tear apart with yearning.
And then I'll drink more wine and pretend.
I don't love anything at all when we all know
That's just not true.

To me,
you're the whisper I find in snow.
You're the emphasis on my "T's"  
You sing me stardust.
You scream me the sun.

She smelled of hate and abuse. I can recall her stringy, brown hair thrown across my pillow. Her mascara was finding its way down her ghost face, but she didn't even try to fight her tears. She was just as hollow as I was.
"How do you know me..?" she inquired. "I probably shouldn't have come with you. I'm sorry; I should be going." I turned my head at this, and I tried to hold back my own tears.
"It's me." I sobbed. Why had she forgotten about me so quick? Was I nothing but another **** to her? I remembered it all so vividly. Her bony body bouncing on my own.. Her beautiful lips, pressed so tightly together, while she rocked away.
She was my angel; she was my sanctuary.

I told him,
"If I could, I would gouge out my eyes,
so that you can see what I see.
I would rip out my heart,
so you could see who it really beats for."

He told me,
"If I could, I would chop off my hands,
so that you could touch heaven.
I would peel off my skin,
so you can be warm."

We traded our bodies,
and we learned where we stood.
I had the smell of his skin;
he had the beating of my heart.