When limbs are floppy
and bodies soft
when dreams slowly drift away
the cosy lovable sleeping spot
hugs you and begs you to stay

Once upon a wounded soul
a broken promise took its toll
the cracks cut deep
though the scars are old
Once upon a wounded soul

Once upon a bitter tear
a suppressed aching reappeared
regrets can't be shrugged off
after all these years
Once upon a bitter tear

Once upon a lonely night
a little hope returned its light
the soul prepares to love again
the tears have fallen, the eyes are wiped
Once upon a lonely night.

She calls no more.
There are no more letters or silly cards from her.
The spot reserved for her emails,
a picture frame thumbnail, sits vacant and sad.
I know I should delete it, but don't know why I haven't.
Ringtones are a dirge.
Pillows and covers and mugs and sofa divots wait expectantly.
Lamenting.
I had to throw out my clothes, the ones she wore when she was cold
or too lazy to pick her own up from the floor.
Was it her scent i could still smell from them after a hundred washes?
Another life is being filled by her existence, now.
He wont notice her impact until it's too late.
I hope it works out between them.
And that she's always safe.

It ain't the flame
                                        that causes fire
                                        it be the heat.

This fickle thing we've got going
is burning me up sweet.

                                        It ain't your lips
                                        that drive me crazy
                                        it be your kiss.

I'm getting addicted to you
and fear I don't want to break this
  
                                        it ain't a cage
                                        that imprisons me
                                        it be the time

The longer I'm kept from you
I accuse circumstance of this crime
  
                                       It ain't money
                                       that lures gamblers
                                       it be the risk.

The odds are stacked against us
time to roll the dice, draw a stick.

“Play me something bittersweet
and mildly melancholic,” asks she.

I punched the buttons
--nothing--

then noticed the
“Out of Order” sign
on the jukebox
as it ate my coin.

I told her this.
Said she, “That'll do fine.”

She misses his delicious kisses;
relishes his teasing touches,
and wishes his seductive whispers
said in secrecy beneath sheets and covers
while limbs twist and spasm,
axis spring and swivel,
and torso arches and collapses
during shared soft and salacious caresses,
shall soon return in such sweetness
to serenade streams of heightened senses
causing erupting screams of
Yes,
Yes,
Oh, PLEASE,
YESssssses.