First off,
unshaved legs, rumbling stomach.
worn underwear, shot elastic.
nervous hands, sweaty palms.
calming touch from him.
uneven *******, slight embarrassment.
chapped lips, overcompensating Carmex.
stuffed nose, whistle breathing.
soft kiss from him.
nervous hands become slowly confident
unsure hips begin to sway
passionate kiss from him.
whispered words, anxious thoughts.
calming touch from  her.
arms holding, bodies contouring.
"let's just lie together".
pattered raindrops, perfect bed.
promises made, kisses given.
lazy caresses, staring gazes.
almost first time.

I missed you
even when I was in your arms
because
I knew
the lips you were kissing
weren't mine.

i had a dream
that he loved me,
       and that's how i knew
i was dreaming.

he had galaxies turning slowly within him
and she crawled inside and kissed every planet

I'm not scared of waking up alone.
I'm terrified that you're not.

I'd live in your ribbed cage
if
   you'd
       let
           me

I dreamt that you
   were laying beside me
   but instead of ribs
   there were constellations
   and half mumbled wishes
holding you together.
You took my hand and
    held it to your chest
    telling me to take a
  fallen star for myself,
to remind me of you.
When I couldn't grasp one
    I looked at you
   desperately,
    and you laid back with
    your blue eyes closed
And told me to *"keep reaching"

on a late night
you filled his mind with thoughts of us
and told his mouth that they should be shared

so you didn't just fill his mind
you filled mine,
with hidden away things
brought out only by wine
and sad movies

now we both have full minds
slurred speech
wanting hearts
and a problem.

Two entities, the ***** and the harlot, have a conversation in my mind:

Harlot, you can't go running after every guy that smiles at you
Yes *****, but you can't go frowning at them every time they look at you either
There's nothing wrong with playing hard to get
The way you play makes them think there's nothing worth getting
Listen Harlot, if it wasn't for me, every man you met would have gotten some
But you need me, *****. You let your head and heart get filled with all these silly romantic dreams, and then there's no one around to love you. If it wasn't for me, you'd be a lonely soul
Maybe you haven't noticed, but I am lonely. Every time you let a man in, I have to push him out

Maybe if you cut loose once in a while you wouldn't be so alone
And maybe if you tightened up you wouldn't have such a friendly reputation following you around. I know you think its fun when you're stretched out in their arms, but we both know that they always leave, and I come out and put my arms around you. I'm the one to fix the hurt, mend the wounds, and field the emotions
**...That may be true, but if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't know what love is, wouldn't know what its like to hear someone whisper your name. You say you hate me, but I know its stuffy holdin' those clothes on so tight.  
So you may be ashamed of me,  you may clean up my mess, but the reality is, *****, you need my past. You need my confidence, and you need to learn that I may be quiet, but I can not go away.
I will be your shadow, I'm the darkest part of you, and even when the lights are on, I've done things we can't undo.
So let's make a deal, a pact, to coincide in peace. I'll be on my best behavior if you'll take care of me

My heart has know every kind of love it can

My skin is blank sheet music,
and you begin to craft a
song with me.
We write an entire
symphony upon each other,
practicing arpeggios and scales
until each one is
perfectly blended into the next,
one movement cannot be distinguished
from the other.
You begin your overture,
striking chords along
my collar bone and ribs,
each tone lovingly clear.
You are the real composer,
the maestro,
the cellist.
I am simply your muse,
your baton,
your bow.
The reprise begins to fade,
our breath comes back to us,
and we treasure the invisible
notes, rests, and tempos
that played across our skin.

Neurons crackling,
sparks dancing
from white to gray matter.
Shadows begin to form,
becoming words as the light of
ingenuity shines
fully on them.
Synapses light up,
down to the fingers,
who are itching to transport
ideas onto pages.
Delicately they balance on the
tightrope line
across the parchment,
waiting for the
world to watch
their spectacle.
They can move hearts,
change minds and
start revolutions
by simply existing.
How tantalizing is the
wonder of
words.

His voice whispered he believed in me
and in that moment
I hid my secrets in his soul

He is the juxtaposition of
harmony and the silence between each note.
He thinks in staffs and scales,
breathes out melodies.
He is the song I sing in the quiet,
a song with no words
no limitations.

His love confuses me,
it came on fast
and hit me hard
so that I'm left spinning.
He took me in his arms
and practiced Russian
by whispering sweet nothings
until all hours of the morning,
until his lips could do nothing
but kiss mine.
He took me dancing,
and tangoed with me
until dusk,
until his hips could do nothing
but dig into mine.
He loved me over time,
in ebbs and flows
like the sea loves the sand,
until he couldn't help
but fall into my tide.
And now he's away,
he'll always be "away",
today Bloomington,
tomorrow Berlin.
And now I'm aching,
I'll always be aching,
today for Indiana,
tomorrow for Germany.

He's chasing a myth,
hunting down a version
of her that doesn't exist.
She knows because when
he lays his tired bones
next to hers,
his "I love you"
is only meant for half of her

it's petrifying
to think that
the qualities
that drew you
to my bed
will be
the ones
to push
you out.

I don't mean to drag it out, to go on and on
Call it "over-thinking" or "emotional detox",
But I have to write you out now that
You're **gone

Now shattered and broken,
fallen pieces on the floor.
Stepping lightly,
hearing bits begin to crack,
shuddering at the pain
that laces
bare feet.
Words flying and cutting
deeper and more
harshly than the glass.
Tears falling
just as bright and
broken as the hearts who
shed them.
Questions cloud the
mind as anger
whispers in the ear,
Daring.
Taunting.
Tempting the feet
to stomp,
to destroy,
to injure so
irrevocably.
Just like they did.

Lay your weathered bones down beside mine
over under around alongside mine.
Trace your name across my collarbone
in whispered kisses.
Darling, tell me,
*'I am yours'

In the night
I could love you.
I could send sweet words to you
on the stars
that darkness pulled from my heart.
Words that I didn't know were on my lips
until you were on my mind.
In the night,
dreams bring me longing,
brief moments without reality
taunting me with what I know
I will not have.
Not during the day.
When the sun is shining
I am yours
whenever you need me.
But in the night,
you are unknowingly loved,
unknowingly mine.
I, myself, did not even know
until darkness fell.
Until it was night.
When I knew I was unconsciously
loving you.

He is strong because he can't stand to feel weak.
  His words ***** her skin but his laughter brings relief.
    His biggest regrets are in the shadows of his reflection.
      She wants to climb inside and put him back together.
        But like the moon and ocean, there is no "them".

m a y b e...
if i scream
             loud
      enough...
you won't hear
my heart
breaking

Things are slipping,
sliding,
careening,
inevitably out of my control.
When did the ropes I tied so carefully
begin to
fray?
When did the hands that held everything
begin to
fatigue?
Were there hints;
subtle looks and comments that
shot past my naive senses?
There must have been.
Because now he's slipping,
sliding,
walking
out of my grasp.
Leaving.
The unspoken reality that pierces a
hole in me no amount of
faked enthusiasm can repair.
Intentions are good,
minds are innocent,
but tensions are high.
I want the best for both,
but only think of one.
It's rough.
Like the proverbial sand I'm
trying to stop from escaping
my grip,
but not as rough as realizing
*there's nothing I can do

turns out
i couldn't
do it
for you,
so i
did it
for me

It's too difficult.
       I'm flesh and blood
so when I try to convert
       myself to
       paper and ink,
I don't like it...
                         Paper me has no depth
                                                        pizazz
                                                   or truth
to her.
She's 2D in more way than one,
simply pretending to have
                                                  life
                                                  love
                                          and excitement.
Vicarious living will only breathe a few
feeble
puffs into her deflated parchment lungs,
but that's all I can
ever
give her.
To impart all my life
                               love
                       and excitement
into her would                  
                          drain me
                           zap me
(and probably) shock me.
Because then she
would no longer be
Paper Me,
she'd be
Real Me
and I don't think I could
          bear to
            come face to face
               with **Real Me

he filled my bones with
    moonlight and cicada songs,
his kisses tasted of
    slow lazy days
and even when i felt the seasons
    change,
i couldn't let him go

Pull back the layers,
more and more,
dance freely as they
flutter
    to
       the
          floor.
The tender skin that starts
to show,
(just like confidence)
it
  grows
    and
       grows
Feel the passion exuded,
taste your life in the air
through your own lungs.
Exceed limits and
build your own box to think
outside of.
Create your own undefinable dreams
through words and thoughts unknown.
The world spins faster as you slow down,
reach out and kiss it lightly.
Be the lover that's different.
Romance generations instead of
ideas.
Cast off the layers that
smother and hide,
be the brave soul that dances
the
    dance
        of the
            free

Sometimes we get the itch.
It's annoying & persistent & insatiable.
We've all felt it,
that hand twitch when you hear
pen against paper,
that foot tap while you mumble
to yourself.  
It's actually quite natural.
It happens because
our bones are filled with syntax,
our skin is parchment
& our thoughts are iambic meters.
If they were to draw blood,
unwritten love poems would
bleed out of us.
We can't help it.
We can't help it that
sonnets & haikus & tankas & free verses
line our lungs,
that we breathe in rhymes.
Because if we try to repress
our God-given inclination
we'll get **the poet's itch.