with your arm around me
and your warmth engulfing me
i realize why i often speak of you
in metaphors of fire and flame.
each word you utter,
each glance you sneak,
feels like strikes of red
against my matchbox heart,
surrounded by newspaper and brush
doused in gasoline.

Sometimes I feel like a lost puzzle piece
The one that somehow skittered under the couch
Unnoticed and unnecessary
Until everyone else has found their places

And it feels like forever
Before that hand reaches out to you
Where you sit with the dust bunnies
That one goldfish and two pennies

And the joy when you are found
Is incomparable because
They need you or the whole puzzle
Is worthless

So hold tight a little while longer

But weren't we vandals in the end,
drowning ourselves with kerosene
with a desire
that our chaos
*would set the world on fire ?

There are a million ways I can tell you,
show you,
and explain to you that I love you.

I can kiss you,
hug you,
squeeze you,
tease you,
and please you.

I can tell you that I love you,
in every language possible,
sing it as beautifully as I can,
and write poems for you to understand.

I can explain my love to you by holding your hand,
telling you everything I like about you,
what makes you unique,
and why you're the one,
the one I want to spend my life with.

There are a million things I can do, million things I can say and million things I can explain,
but none of them show it more than my lips as they touch yours.

When it's rough,
times are tough,
you keep on going,
no matter who,
no matter what,
that stands in your way,
you don't complain,
you push through,
you persevere,
you win.

'Don't pick up the gun, son.
Don't pick up the gun.
'cause if you ever use it,
You'll be a man on the run.'

Those were Papa's words then
When I was just a boy.
My eyes looked trigger happy.
My young heart beat with joy.

But he knew then, as I know now -
Real guns are not a toy.
And he had one strong mission:
To save his only boy.

Yes, he knew well the danger,
And he knew of the pain.
So he would always stay on point
As he spoke his old refrain.

'Don't pick up the gun, son.
Don't pick up the gun.
Live life to the fullest and
Don't pick up the gun!'

(C) K. Hicks