Hallelujahs have turned.
Day into endless night.
Memories have spoiled.
Rid me of your sight.

Save me from this nightmare.
This thundercloud above.
I can't escape this anguish.
Still feel the aches of love.

Sad poems flow right through me.
They're like this bad disease.
They all reek of loneliness.
Though I write them with such ease.

Perhaps I am just waiting.
For someone new to come.
But until they show their face to me.
These saddened words will numb.

Even he was envious of her solitude. She was never not cloaked in the warmth of her own bubble. She was consoled in a demure susurrus, and never missed a kiss with the mist of air, alluring every inch of her body to coalesce with ethereality. Her skin shivered. So did his. How did the stillness linger amidst the commotion, the row, the function? It was inevitable. He almost believed she was only a feast for the sightseers, a prey for those who despised idleness at night. But good God, did she move! Did she swing her fingertips in a melodious number! Did she blink her emeralds to blind those with unfortunate, degraded gems! And did she turn to look and lift the corners of her lips, into a form that could be misconstrued, both if it were and were not responded! And did his body defy his mind, when he could only see her go, and witness his failure to speak and his success to listen. And did his mind defy his heart, when the path to his love was obstructed by the thoughts of no one but his own.

I want to spend sixty years married to you.

I want to forget what it feels like to grocery shop without you driving.
I want to stop remembering what it felt like to only wash my laundry.
I want to have the smell of you become the smell of home;
I want to get lost in the back of your mind,
in the back of your heart so that every thought and beat includes me.

I want to hire an architect and watch him build our home,
I want to plant a garden with you.
I want to joke that you killed the plants we both neglected to water.
I want to fall in love with your glow every single morning for the next sixty years.

I want to make wine with you,
And I want to drink too much of it at our kitchen table.
I want to fold you seamlessly into every sentence I craft.

I want to buy dogs with you, and laugh with you.
I want to tease you until you scream,
I want to call ******* whenever you're wrong,
And I want to forgive you for every mistake you'll ever make,
and I hope you'd forgive me of mine.

I want to laugh and laugh and laugh until we cry.
I want to make you dinner every night,
and I want to dry our dishes.
I want us to become a single entity in our friends minds.
I want us to flow perfectly into infinite love.

I want to kiss you until our lips are tender,
And I want to fall in love with you some more.
I want to fight and cry with you until our last days on earth.
I want to make love to you for the next sixty years.

I want every word I say to you to be the poetry I see in you.

All my insecurities
Could eat me
For breakfast.

In my life story you'd be the heroine.
You'd have chapters devoted to your hip bones,
And verses about your scent.
I'd write run-on sentences about the musical notes of your laughter
And paragraph after paragraph about the way you looked first thing in the morning.
I'd invent new poetic devices to describe the feel of your skin against mine.

In your life story I'm a sentence, the bare minimum.

I've never been quite crazy
or ever fully sane
but I swear to God I've seen you here
on a day when there was rain.
Did we share the same umbrella
or maybe a cup of tea,
I tend to fall in love
with all the eyes I see.
Tears clouded corners
of your softened emerald eyes;
your fist hit the table,
blood began to rise.
The record player sang and wailed
a million broken songs
and in a flash I saw your hands
and knew I was all wrong.
History reminded me
you were no face unknown,
I know those emerald eyes,
those hands have held my own.
I can't recall who did what
beneath that hazy sky
but my fingertips warn
it's not worthy of a try.
I turn to escape your haunting eyes
but notice, heavy with regret
your crooked smile as I catch a whiff  
of tangerine and cigarette.

You've heard me, scornful, harsh, and discontented,
Mocking and loathing War: you've asked me why
Of my old, silly sweetness I've repented--
My ecstasies changed to an ugly cry.

You are aware that once I sought the Grail,
Riding in armour bright, serene and strong;
And it was told that through my infant wail
There rose immortal semblances of song.

But now I've said good-bye to Galahad,
And am no more the knight of dreams and show:
For lust and senseless hatred make me glad,
And my killed friends are with me where I go.
Wound for red wound I burn to smite their wrongs;
And there is absolution in my song