She might loved you
but I loved you more
than anything I've ever
loved in my whole life
she might been there
when you needed her
but I was there when you
didn't even need a thing
I loved everything about
you even your darkest
secrets, flaws, imperfections
secrets that you only shared
with me, flaws that were
nothing but perfection in
my eyes, imperfections that
made me fall in love with
you more and more
I loved you despite all the
pain you caused, the long
sleepless nights and every
single piece you scattered
of this shattered heart

this is my impossibility:

that I may still smell you
from the crevice of my curve
while the moon laughs at my folly
     that I may still catch your laugh
     through cracks in the pavement

         this is the love of a patient
         who knows not his disease
         only the teething

this
is the difficulty
of breathing alone.

Something I love.
Something I hate.
The white of a dove.
The fiery gate.
It can be about love,
Someone should've had.
It can be about lust
How it turned the good to bad.
When  I write.
I think to myself.
What am I compared to
Dust on the shelf.
A huge ugly clambering ogre
Or gentle giant looking over
Lines and lines of rhyming words.
A sing song tempo meant for birds.
In the end you will see
Writing does mean something to me.

I don't remember when I learned how to speak or even
drink

Yet, these thirsty lips always run to their words
-clinging to each syllable like a child to it's mother

But this time it's different

I'd whisper how while we kiss
but for the first time I have no words.

I don't remember the first time I heard your name

maybe, I just knew...

Funny,
it seems these days and long nights its all these love drunk lips are stumbling on.

and that's why
this time it's different.