Teeth,
grasping at straws,
grasping for words
but I'd rather they grasp
at my flesh--

Hands,
gesturing while speaking
but oh, if they could
make gestures on my form--

and Minds,
thinking deeply,
but do you mind to
let me forget my sins on your skin?

Let me take these little pieces of you,
let us immortalize not in words, but in
feeling.

I have shifted the tide, so to speak--
not held captive to the flaws of men
or the romanticism of it--
I no longer have the inclination
to adore atrocity or
to revel in insanity,
But,
in sanity,
I am numb to these vibrations,
numb to the feeling of happy or sad,
because coping is another word
for "robot"-- I'm the analyst now,
I'm in love with logic,
and so life goes on,
without a further nod from me.

the mind is a vessel swimming in ideas, until the break into reality--waves are receding from the shoreline of thought,
crashing crescendos of melodies
that ached to be heard
And
words that longed to be written
And
memories that once resurfaced--

All gone.

Dreaming is a poet's land and
I ache for eye sight and control and the free flight of my subconscious.

Allured by the witchcraft of your auburn curls,
hit by the corners of those swift piscine eyes,
submitted to your canoodling with my secret desires;
the last straw was your pouty, luscious, ruby lips!