I will not hurt(you) no more
I will not fake(for you) no more
I will not break(your heart) no more
I simply will not be (yours) no more.

he tastes of
fresh coffee and old memories
mixed together with
swallowed sentiments
that neither of us
is brave enough
to say.

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

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'

We melted together in the night
                                    the dawn
                                    the quiet.
We held and kissed and loved
                                    and touched
                                    and whispered.
And then he left
                       sneaked
                       tip-toed,
                       left me to conceal
                                         hide
                                         clean
our night of passion
off the floor.

I wrote about him
over a year ago.
He was one of my
     most inspirational muses
that became one of my
     softest kisses
     purest loves
     sweetest memories.
Which makes it even more painful
to realize that he also became
one of my
        biggest heartbreaks.

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

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

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

i breathed him in
like a drag off of
one of his cigarettes,
long
slow and
cool.
i held him in
before exhaling
and promised
this time would be
my last.

Bones forgot the pull,
the tug and the grimace
that happens
when someone burrows
between the lungs to live.
Bones forgot the burn and sting
that heart feels when it stops,
when it jumps to throat, skips.
Body forgot that emotions
meant brain AND heart,
eyes, tongue and lips.
Girl forgot that boy
could kiss and make
her forget
all that was forgotten.

He was her skeleton key
changing shape and
fitting snugly to her,
dying to unlock
her so that he could
reside in the space
between her ribs

I wonder if the stars know how many
love poems
promises
sighs
serenades
slow dances
soft kisses
proposals
whispers
they've inspired.
I also wonder how many of them still yet wish they were the moon.

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

How strange it is...

to have one man star in your dreams,
and wake up next to another...

to have already slept in those cold apathetic arms and left them outstretched,
yet they are the ones that reach out from the gossamer void...

to have been shown love and warmth and awake next to him gladly,
but still feel the chill of the night inside your mind...

how strange it is...

to have control of your life back,
yet not control of your dreams...

Falling through graceful realms,
I am unafraid.
Tucked safely in my mind
behind closed eyelids,
I am subjected to the
parade of my subconscious.
Before my ethereal self
the fancies of my foolish
heart dance to the
lively circadian rhythm
with lavish costumes and tricks,
disguising themselves as a
bizarre and random
dream

If the artist were to love the writer
and she him,
surely,
their souls would never
untangle.

two people,
so very broken
that they had to
borrow and share
each other's
pieces to
finally feel
whole

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

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

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.

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".

The moment I think back on
the most
isn't when
                   we learned to samba
                we saw each other naked
              our lips met for the first time
or even when we said I love you.
Its our last night together,
the night we
            played cards with your family
       slept in your twin bed
    couldn't work the DVD player
and took our first bedroom picture.
It was the night when
    I woke up and cried quietly
until you felt my tears on your skin
    You wrapped me up and rocked me back to sleep
    You whispered I'm here over and over again.
Don't you remember, love?
*It was the night before you left (me).

He exists in a world
a little higher than hers,
filled with more
colors and shapes
than she could ever
dare to see.
She traces the lines
he created and longs
to feel what he feels,
to taste the same
inexplicable tinge in the air
that he breathes,
But her eyes don't see,
she doesn't feel
and her lungs can never know.
And that's why she
needs him so fiercely,
why she clings so tightly
to her painter.

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.

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.

I perched on my rock and beckoned him,
filling my lungs with sea air and
exhaling words that tasted sweet.
I watched his ship as it slowed,
and I saw his men corral to the rails,
clawing and calling and cursing
at me.

He approached the rail
with tearful eyes,
and a discontented heart
that I sang so softly to soothe.
As he dove to the swelling sea
I stitched together a song of glory and romance and paradise
for his ears alone.

He swam toward me
across an ocean of desperation
that he had so avidly denied,
and louder I sang.
When he struggled and faltered
I promised him more with
the breath of my lungs and
the gleam of my eyes,
I cheered my sailor on.

Exhaustion filled his ears
so that he could not hear me,
the ocean surged to fill his lungs,
and I swam to save my love.
I dove and I cradled and I carried
and I laid him down upon the sand.
A caress of his cheek and all he could say
was, "Sing for me, please".

I laid on the sand and comforted him,
filling my lungs with sea air
and exhaling words that tasted sweet.
I watched his chest as it slowed,
and in the distance I saw his men corral to the rails,
clawing and calling and cursing
at me.

He approached his end
with tearful eyes
and a broken heart
that I sang so softly to soothe.
And as he dove into the afterlife
I stitched together a song of glory and romance and paradise
for his ears alone.

He swam away from me,
across an ocean of ethereal waves
that he so avidly defied,
and louder I sang.
When he struggled and faltered
I promised him more with
the heave of my lungs and
the glint of tears in my eyes,
I coaxed my sailor on.

Death filled his ears
so that he could not hear me,
the ocean surged with his stolen breath,
And I sang to quiet my love.
I cried and I held and I mourned
and I laid myself down upon the sand.
A caress of his cheek and all I could say was,
"Wait for me, please."

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.

he felt slight in my arms,
like trying to hold
a ray of light
from the sun tattoo
on his wrist.
and
when he kissed me
i tasted his sadness
and his demons,
drinking them in myself
with the hope that
he would be able
to burn a little brighter,
like the sun tattoo
on his wrist.