You're wearing me out with your indifference
like a pair of boots walking long distance.
No matter which route I take
I never seem to reach your heart.

Tried travelling down other paths,
but it don't take long before
I have to turn back.
My only destination is wherever you're at..
But you get further and further away.

I listen for the call
in words,
in a look,
in a touch.
Longing for the return
of the soft weight and crush
of your ******* upon my chest.
Flesh hotter than Fahrenheit
together pressed,
roll and glide and engulf.
Lips and tongue and your
love's tremble
slight,
arch of body and scented hair tumble.
Our love's shared laughter,
kisses pealing
our campanology
freely ringing,
echoing
till sleep.

Her smile was the most hurtful thing.
It suddenly awoke him from a perfect dream.
Swatting away razor sunbeams
from cutting him down to earth.

Coffee turned cold,
tray full of butts.
The play of her mouth
was a kick in the guts.
If somebody asks what's wrong
he'd make something up.
Truth be told nobody would.

At least being alone he'd only have to lie to himself.

She wasn't perfect,
he knew too well
though she was perfect for him
like a chime and a bell,
but now her smile could go to hell
so too her choice of another.

The bus threw up it's passangers
street's bustle flushed them away.
He sidestepped a muttering ******
who'd seen better days.
Umbrellas popped open
and hoods pulled up
against the falling rain,
but his thoughts were a staccato of her.

The lure of coffee and pastries
from a deli warmly beckoned all to
stay,
but the hustle of pedestrians
carried him south on his way
towards officeblocks looming ominously
flanking the warf along the edge of the quay,
but his thoughts were of a staccato of she.

He tossed his radio out the window.
95 piece orchestra and composer
hurled through the air.
As Wagner crashed
he cracked open a bottle of wine
to take his mind off
his hatred for the predictable.
Then her ghost came to him
like he knew she would;  
to haunt him,
to taunt him.
Though there was nothing scary
about her cool milky thighs
sliding out of a butter yellow skirt.

I wear this second skin
writing secretly
in the jaws of night.

Reticent thoughts
shyly accumulate in ink
unravel and take flight.

Though to others
they may be worthless
void of craft and lack insight.

Each one is a delicate
Part of me
I have the right to write.

Colours were flattened beneath
a dull stretch of graphite sky.
Its cloak dampened the dimension
of nature's vibrancy,
trapping an uncomfortable
heavy warmth void of wind's sigh.
Birds couldn't manage a chirp
nor dogs a bark.

Weighted limbs sprawled
from lifeless bodies
drained of energy.
Lazy eyes lolled
in attempts to peruse
a tree's limp leaves
in hope of movement
urging them
for a sign of relief.
Those eyes soon retreated
to drift and dream
behind weary lids
which sank
as silently as the absent sun.