Love is second hand smoke
Poison
Its greasy fingers grasping your lungs
Robbing you of every last breath….
But
You like it.

And amid the rhythmic song of the crickets, the trickle of a departing storm, and the quiet lull of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 1 in B flat, the screech of an unruly vehicle is heard, yet it is off in the distance and only slightly interrupts the dreamer’s dream. She sets her thoughts free so that they may swirl around her mixing with the wetness of the day. She is peaceful as is the chilled air that nibbles at her skin causing her hair to raise, but she likes it, for she grows weary of the thick, exhausting heat that has so frequently plagued her soul. Dreaming is, and forever will be her one true escape.

Longevity
Inevitably
Gives
Character.

I breathe in your scent,
Rich like freshly ground coffee,
And my skin against yours,
In a sweet embrace,
Of friendship turned more,
And my pale skin,
Against your darker tone.

We are what people want,
We are supposed perfection,
But what happens behind closed doors,
Is not what's expected.
One cares for the other,
And one cares for what's offered.

We dance a dance,
Where one is pleasing,
And one is pleased,
But neither one is satisfied.

The dance continues,
Where one is giving,
And one is taking,
And the giver is about to wither.

The dance will end,
When one is dying,
And can offer no more,
To the one who takes,
And when the dying one is empty,
The living one shall leave.

So tell me now,
Is this really what you want?
We may be beautiful,
But inside we're just as fake,
As those Styrofoam cakes,
You find on display,
Because that's what we are,
A display.