My dear Mimi,
     Hey baby, are you an electron cause I feel a covalent bond between us. Did you fall from heaven? Because you're the only ten I see. Wanna know my favorite color? Its you. Hey girl, how about me and you go to Tennessee because when you fell from heaven it hurt. Smooth. I'm a genius. All these pickup lines and I'm still on the floor. All these chargers and you're still not a lithium battery. Why the **** is this so cheesy and inaccurate? Maybe its because Everytime I'm near you I get nervous. I start to shake. I start to become anxious. I start to worry. I start becoming self conscious and insecure because I want to be perfect for you. I want you to want me all the way. I want you. I just want to look at you because I see the stars in your eyes. I want to hold you because I feel the burn of your beauty and wonder on my fingertips and up my arms through my shoulders and down to my appendix, because to end at the heart has been said before. I can't explain it. I guess I just...love youuuuu. *kissy faceheart*****

Morning pallor on a grey day
not a five cent shine
to the sun.

Bitumen hissed all night
trees tossed and tangoed
shuddered and split.

Navy clouds, blue with rain
surfed in from the ocean
racing on the wild wind
learning to scream.

The stones listened
moon listed and tried to find
a space in the cloud-tide rush
to quiet-light the gloom.

Morning Armistice on a pale grey day
of debris and displacement
refugees and leaf litter
surrender and detachment
silent and still
only a five cent shine to the sun

© M.L.Emmett

you
      walk
            naked
                  and dripping,
from
      the shower
                      
and stand,
             as i covet
                         your
                              absolute

beauty and magnificence.

ardent desire,
               raises goosebumps
on
   my skin,
             as lust
                    lights the fires.

your
     eyes,
         rake over me
                      and i am left
quivering....

we come
         together, with    
              mouths full of greed,
lips of desire,
             skin so tender....

that the touch
              of fingertips,
                   scorches and sears.

but burn, we must
             and burn, we will.

as we ravenously, take our fill

gorging,
           feasting,
                      devouring,
                      ­              desire.

this is our .....
      love's funeral pyre.
                      from which
the phoenix,
        each day arises...
             ...more incandescant.
to await...
          with longing
               fervent and asmolder
          
the next match's
                   striking to love's
                           lusterous fire.

Once again
Word binge
Trying to think of some verbal fringe.
Hope I can bring about some wit
Maybe some confessions I'll actually admit.
Perhaps I'll write 4 poems in a row
Have a temper tantrum to throw.
Try to portray someone that I wish to be
Take pride in the fact that I'm being insane but responsibly.
Try to compete with someone who knows more words than I
Anything to move along this sleepless night.
Sit awhile and stare upwards
Talking to myself until it gets awkward.
Give self advice to which I'll never listen
Try to figure out if I really am a Christian.
Pine and whine and rhyme and cry
Comfort myself by writing lies
Delete it all or reconsider?
Does it help or does it matter?
Feel the butterfly under my pillow
My Smith and Wesson blade it's bed fellow.
Alone in what I thought was shared
My wedding bed feeling bare.
Attempting to practice myself as less impared.
Thinking of ways to improve my snare.
Cradle me through
With words and truth.
You don't need to touch me
Just give me proof.
That I'm not alone
In four walls, boxed
While occasionally getting up
To recheck the locks.
Lots of crime down the block
And it's stirring up the gentile folks.
To think all but 6 years shy
I was the one who they tried to lock out at night.
Being the one who went bump with delight.
Begging for the next big fight.
Domestication
My silent destruction
Made my calloused hands soft and lotioned
My scars now turned to thin lines of redemption
That the body survived
But the soul is still in incarceration.
Maybe if I turned my brain
Away from the gravitational strain
Of fighting to stay alive each day.
Most think that ease is easy
That kicking back makes life worth living.
I tried the kitchen and the big screen tv.
I gave a chance to indoor voices
I gave someone else my harder choices.
I let a paycheck define my courtship.
And now I'm soft and feel like horse ****.
Not all were meant for quiet lives.
Some can't just turn off the flame in their eyes.
Some can't forget the memories that deprives
Them of simplistic everyday joys of being alright.
And the price is to lay awake a night
Bickering with myself instead of carousing for a fight.
Knowing that I chose it all
Welcomed it with my arms all sprawled.
It's devistating to find out your *******.
Derping around and never intended
To listen to myself being regarded
With pity as they talk slowly
As if I'm cross eyed and hearing poorly.
By the grace of God I can wipe my own ***
I can feed myself and drink out of my own glass.
Never thought I'd live to see the day
To look so young and feel so middle aged.
******* rants
Letting my fingers dance
On letters with smug little prances.
Title it for me
I won't sue
I'm sure I've probably titled you too.

Surrounded by people
Who've known me all my life
And yet not labeled "my family",
I can't help but feel alone.
Though we laugh and cavort
In companionable glee
The fact that they don't know
The unmasked me
Saddens my hermit-yet-lonely heart.
I can sit alone in a full room
And feel the same as if it were empty
For the level of empathy,
Understanding, and knowing
Never changes, never grows.
It stays at zero zero point zero.
Like the monotone screech
Of a lifeless heart on the monitor
Never fluctuating up or down,
I sit here unknown, unconnected,
Alone.

Your eyes are the softest shade of brown I've ever seen.
Your smile is the perfect representation of lovely
and your voice makes me want to write beautiful metaphors about you in 3 am handwriting.
I hope my poetry touches you in places my hands couldn't
and grows flowers in the saddest parts of you.

I love looking back at our old messages because  at one point during your life

You took time at of your day to talk to me

These days
we are more
like slow drips
from a leaky
faucet than the
hydrant
burst
that we once
pooled our
past with.
But I guess
even a
puddle of
droplets
can still feed
the storm.

(This constant
flood &
drought
will never
let us grow)