I have been in love since the moment I was born.

My mother was first and for a long time she held my heart.
At five she still had my love but so did Clint Eastwood.
That poncho wearing, cigarette smoking cowboy was the dad I never had.

In the sixth grade it was Stacy Smith.
She was my Wendy Peppercorn,
my Messiah,
my World Series Ring.
my love.

I made it to high school after
a few brief people put stars in my eyes.
In high school I met a girl
who took all the stars that had ever been in my eyes
multiplied them by all the stars in the sky
and put them back in my eyes, only for her.

Now, three years later,
a ******
excommunicated addict
I am in love again.

He is an author and he writes novels.
He is a novelist.
He is a genius.
He told me:
There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.

And I have figured that one out.
Until I have devoured him,
until I understand every single one of his literary pieces
I may not die.
I may not.
Until then,
I may love no other.
I may not die.

You entice me.
With your lips
you
      e
          n
             t
                i
                  c
                     e
                           me.

               With your legs you
                  
                      e
                   c
                 i
               t
             n
         e
.me

With everything
you
       have
you make me lust.
With everything
you
       got
you make me yearn.

Y
e
  a
   r
    n
for something I cannot have.
L
u
  s
   t
for something I have not got.

We found it funny
that our shoes and shirts matched.

We heard people ask if we had planned it
and we told them we had not.

You also matched me shot for shot, until we lost the ability to count
and we decided it would be best to stop drinking.

In your bedroom I matched you kiss for kiss,
until our lips could not satisfy us anymore.

Breathe for breathe,
****** for ******,
moan for moan,
we matched and we matched and we matched
and nobody asked us if we had planned that.
If they did, we would have told them that we did not.

And now,
when people look at our lips
and necks
they will not need to know if we planned it,
because the matching of our hearts was planned
and perfected, and practiced.
Not by us,
yet we enjoy the rewards.

I see my God in you.
I see him in your eyes
and hear him with your ears.

Through you he speaks to me
and with you, he shall know me.

The wind rustles the leaves on the tree
and causes the sleeping child to stir.
For reasons she does not know, she feels warm.
But she has seen the good and the bad and was given a choice.

The daylight streams through the window
and the kettle is boiling
and in the next room, my love is stirring.

Awaken! her heart sings to her.
Go! Enjoy the light, the shade, the sounds and the silence!
Go and enjoy all of this I have laid before you!
Go and kiss your lover, through each other you have found me!
*Through each other, you have found love, and that is all I want of you

You bought me a wooden pipe
on my last birthday.
I had it for a few months until I lost it.
Now, you're not here to spend the day with me
and neither is the pipe I named after you,
my lovely Lady L.

On a whim, however, I purchased a new pipe.
Inside a gold box,
long and brown,
like something Gandalf would smoke,
my mysterious Wizard.
Just like the girl I share tonight with.

Happy Birthday to me.
So light me up a cigarette
and get the water boiling.

Kiss me on the cheek
and I'll kiss yours,
now how about pizza, I'm buying.

Take me to a movie,
but smoke me out first,
buy me a soda, it doesn't have to be a large.

I'm a week older than I was last week,
and seventeen years older than when I was born.
But don't worry about numbers, just give me a hug.

It feels like a life time ago,
but in reality it has only been a few months.

I remember, the last thing I did before falling asleep
with you in my arms was kiss you,
and the last thing I did before that was make love to you.

I remember, the first thing I did after waking up
with you in my arms was kiss you,
and the next thing I did after that was make love to you.

But that's gone,
it died with the summer.

Tradition dies with love  
and distaste is born with loss.

Sniff sniff, swallow,
to get the feeling you gave me.
Sniff sniff, swallow,
to make myself feel.