He threw caution into his red cup.
He named his drink the forget-me-not.
This would be the night of remembrance.
One-fourth Sprite and three-fourths *****.
The crisp wind greeted him as he stepped outside.

He charged into the night.
Forget-me-not.
He babbled with his friends.
Forgt-me-not.
He took another sip.
Forgt-me-nit.
He danced with a girl.
Firgtn-e-nit.
He drank every drop of his forget-me-not.
fIrgtne-nit


He went till the break of dawn only to be swept up by the wind.
The next day he woke up with saliva crust down the side of his mouth.
He had forgotten.
The night forgot him.

The breathe in my pen grew shallow.
Each scribble whittled me down.
Before I knew it, the pen that
            I wrote with ran out of ink
                    Just before my heart ran out out of beats
                                       This was a story not to be finished
                                                      Bu­t the ink stains on my hands
                                                                ­  Were like the scars of my past.
                                                           ­                               A constant reminder.

Caught in a Tornado,
I tried to reach the eye.
To my dismay, I found nothing on my arrival.
So once again I threw myself into nature's breathe,
only to be greeted by a zephyr.

The night beat down my chest.
Your taste lingered on my lips
Each breathe lined up with every pump of blood.
Not a cloud was to be seen.
It still rained.

Your eyes were like the blue of the sky,
but I saw the clouds begin to form.
Two drops fell before I saw the storm inside.
Two drops I counted.
The thunder broke.

Literature was our language.
We wrote in words.
Words were traded in tongue.
I wanted you to speak more to me more.
Speak till my language felt numb.

My lips on yours
I wanted more.
My arms wrapped around you.
I wanted more.
Thunder crashed.
Still not a cloud in the sky.
I wanted to take it from you.
I wanted more.

The night beat down my chest.
Your taste lingered on my lips.
Each breathe lined up with every pump of blood.
Never have I seen,
A blue skied storm.