She sits watching **** Bill,
concentrated, emotive.
She doesn't know
the angle of her nose,
the ***** of her lips,
her eye lashes flashing as she blinks,
make me slip deeper, deeper
into a place I never want to leave,
her heart, her arms, her life.

Love doesn't always triumph.
No matter how hard people try
it slips away or strangles them
or drives them crazy.
The fires fizzle out, the passion flies,
the love dies.
I know, I know,
I've seen it a million times,
with friends, with my parents, with myself.
It's scary as hell,
but with this one, this one,
oh it's something else!
If the flame gets low, why,
I'll chop down a forest,
I'll mine coal the rest of my life,
to keep fueling and fueling.
The odds seemed stacked against
romance lasting, resisting a pessimistic demise,
but this one makes it not matter,
shatters all expectations, opposes
those forces that tear, that rip,
that desperately wish to squish love
into a smudge on the pavement.
Yes, this one is something else
this one is a fairy tale

Ink spilled from the needle tip
that slipped under my skin.
I didn't think, I didn't think,
it sinks in every time she cries.
I only suffered pin ****** and laser burns,
to her it stings continually
and sometimes stabs, stabs, stabs-
On those nights I want to take a knife
to the defiled flesh and cut like hell,
dig out the pigment, remove the skin,
but I can't, I can only say I'm sorry.
What worthless words,
stupid, worthless words
that can't do anything to ease her hurt.
She hurts, she hurts,
I'm the worst.

She has big dreams
filled with London and New York,
acting, musicals, on stage, spot light,
and she's chasing them down,
a huntress in a red dress,
they don't have a chance.
She gets what she wants,
no one can resist her,
all the guys and girls are dying to kiss her.
She could have anyone by simply
beckoning with her finger.
When she steps in a room
it's all eyes on her, but her eyes on me.
Oh God can't she see
that the whole world's in love with all that she does?
Her touch is electricity
shocking me back from a life of complacency,
the voltage between us charging
both our batteries.
All the others who want her,
who might try and ****** her,
they don't really matter.
She can leave for three months,
be set on by handsome men and gorgeous women,
but they can't do what I can if she gives me the chance.
I can dance to her beat,
I keep up in the sheets,
I love her in the bedroom,
on stage, in the streets,
I love her, I love her,
and it's so hard to believe,
but she,
she,
she loves
me?

If you can't whistle it
it isn't a song.*
Wise words once emanating
from false teeth
and a liquorice addiction.
He took tooth picks to flick
the grit from beneath nails,
inhaled just before a snore.
One war, two dogs, three sons,
and a wife that shaved his face
when he was in a coma.
He was a little late on the draw,
always saying things out of context,
then he'd wink at me, crack a grin,
fall asleep before the conversation ended.
I like to think that he is just
snoozing away, drifted off in the middle of a talk,
and someday he'll start up with a grunt
as if nothing ever happened.

My heart is a watering can
with patched up holes.
There is rust around its edges
but it's full to the brim.
I've poured it out
over dry dirt;
nothing ever sprouted
save a few shoots that soon shriveled.
I refilled it each time, trying a new.
Finally, I've tipped it,
sprinkling over my love for you,
and to my deepest delight
a garden grew.

I miss you in the morning
when the sun peaks through the blinds,
I miss you in the afternoon
when I'm working all the time,
I miss you in the evening
when I close my weary eyes.
All I want is to tell you I love you,
to hold you through the night.