I can still smell
The spit
On my
Fingers
From the
Early hours
Of last
Night
Though
My heart
Is no longer
Racing and
My mind
Has come
To a calm
My face
No longer
Damp
With anxiety
And beer
No longer
On my
Breath.
Yet I
Can still
Smell
The spit
Stuck
To my
Fingers
After
I played
Out
What she
Had done
With you
That night.
I came
Over
After
Two drinks
With
No dinner
After
A car ride
With missed
Stop signs
That I
Should have
Listened to
After
Novel text
Messages
And
Few words
After
A day
Spent
On my
Bedroom
Floor
Next to
A mandala
Diary
And
My colored
Pens
Laying under
My birthday
Blanket
On a stuffed
Animal
By a puddle
Of tissue
Paper
I went over
To your
House
Last night.
Where I
Kissed you
And your
Body
Until spit
Covered
My own
Fingers
Until you
Threw me
Under you
With sudden
Excitement
And ******
And ******
And ******
Me
Until
My breath
Grew shallow
My lungs
Collapsing
Beneath
My chest
Drowning
Beneath
Your body
Until
My temple
Shook
Like a
Stirring sea
Until
Tears came
From my
Face
Like rain
And then
You stopped
You hugged
Me
You asked
Me
Why I did
What she did
With you
Why
Did I want
To replicate
With spit
Sliding
Down my
Fingers
To be a
Replica
Of her
You
Held me
Again
Gave me
Words
Like medicine
Then
When my
Breath
Deepened
And my
Lungs
Rushed air
Into their
Open space
You
Asked me
To finish
What I
Had started
So I
******
And ******
And ******
You
Until
You found
Your finish.

An experience
will always be more valuable than a possession.
And how lucky you are
to have both at once, for
I have long-since given myself to you.

There came a time I closed our doors
A time after you left
For the heart of my heart
I cannot lock the door.
There came a time our treasure chest met its eternal hole
For life of my life I cannot bury it.
They say you love once
If that was true
Why oh why
Do I keep falling in love with you
Everyday , every night and it repeats
My beautiful replay of our edwardian love.
You were my everything and now that my everything is gone I have nothing.
Grieve I grieve more then I should , I hurt more then I should but all I can think and do is only love you.
With sorrowful joy-
Theres a part of me that still thinks of you and whatever fears I have disappears

The sun rises
Dawn comes
The dark runs
But so does our love.
A bird comes
he sits
I chase him
But he doesn't run
flying through the air things are herald at him but he doesn't run.
Dusk comes and I hate the bird.
His beautiful multicoloured feathers
His sweet song promises pain
He brings love but when I held him he took my love and flew away.
Betrayal bitter betrayal
Why my love why did you fly into my life and glide away with every thing I have and everything I am.

These goose bumps of repair
Replies of moods
Leading to waxy footsteps into learning

Melting are they
To the shocks of sounds
Reliving every pinch inserted

Hues of melodies lagging
Observations made clear
Appropriate glows

Laces of hope spill from your mouth
Mysterious are your intentions
I cannot help but to discover

Cancel the reservations of swift ties
Degrees placed with you
Patterns you cannot escape

Your thoughts provoke you
Come fourth
Roll away your stone

Channels have you flipped
Patient have I been
Hush your pretending thoughts

Land your anchor in this sea
Anticipation has awaited
Don’t deny my affection

Yet your ship flees from my adornment

In straps, of wire saplings,
Becomes one wild rose.
Alone in the dawn,
A solitary crow knows
That this is beauty,
Greater than his own
Shiny black robe.
Impossibly regal
Red as a scarlet wail,
A siren, amongst all
The greens and yellows
Of a meadow, of the entire
World, is the rose, above those,
Especially the bleak, envious
Crow, latched to a branch
As scaly and gnarled as his soul,
Blacker than eternal night,
Beside the shining light
Of the rightly charmed
Wild rose,
Alone.
             Sorry is the crow—
Most of all unmatched, strikingly
To long flame of chalk faced moon,
Rides in airs, misbegotten, makes
Desolate cries, of wounding caws,
Self inflicted, so, somehow seems
Unalive, tarred, undead as smoke,
His fettered, black, unfeathering
Eyes.  Not like the blooming spark
And flash of the stunning, runner,
Unbeaten, indomidible, shocking,
Wild rose, unmired by bramble,
Wood nor motley thorn of bush,
A star of life, razor cut, blistering,
Free, this spirited, ****** heart,
Set, a rage, on jagged leaf.

In tangled straps of green wire saplings,
A Rose is even more a rose, next to crow.