They lie warm together
In the afterglow of torrid love
Her head on his chest, he says
"Sing me to sleep, my love"
So she hums and croons
A tune he does not recognize
With soothing sounding words
In a language he does not recognize
"I love you," he murmurs as his eyes close
"I know," she says smiling
And so, as he sleeps
She lies open-eyed
Imagining a future he will not recognize

                                        By Phil Roberts

Rainy days,
and cloudy grey skies.
I miss the sunshine
hidden in
your bright blue eyes.
Stormy nights,
and cold December mornings.
I love the way
we get wrapped up
tight between the sheets.
Sunny days,
and brisk may showers.
I hear happiness
coming from your laughter.

there are so many types of art

but you are my favorite

I've given myself up, wrapped and chained,
accepting the cards and the blows.
Fought forward, but peacefully restrained,
as simple and calm as resistance goes.
Why is there a loss in a life with no games?
I'll allow you to believe you hold an Ace,
while clutching a jester of your same,
narcissistic grin matches the one on your face.

You get so mad
when I'm half in my head,
mostly because I write,
what I really should've said.

I am capable of love,
even during,
the coldest of nights.