It was on one of those late, humid, uneventful nights,
the moist Florida breeze carrying the sweet aroma of society
gently into my nostrils.
Unbeknown was I, that such a fine pearl amongst
so many dull caricatures would captivate the eyes, the soul, the mind
of this sullen man.
"That's the one, fellas."

Her eyes; gentle irises wrapped in rich brown color,
her legs; boy, did I just about lose my wits, at this time,
having not felt such juvenile desires to kiss, caress, and feel in a long while,
her skin; soft as the satin sheets that encompass the bed
on which it would do me great pleasure to lay her upon
beside the ocean that is my dreams (what a pleasure!),
her hair; flowing like that very same ocean,
and what a dip I would take in that ocean with her!

Following my gawking and admiring and gazing and desiring,
it donned on me that she was without a partner, a man,
stuck up the river without a paddle, lost in the fog without a beacon;
'O! would I love to be that man,' methinks to myself.
I would dance with Lucifer himself, the Arch-Angel, in a flurry of sparks,
fire galloping, brimstone cracking beneath our feet; a race against time!
I would travel miles, kilometers, light years across the depths of space and time,
defying laws of physics, theories of relativity!
There would be epics written, films directed, and stories told for millenia
of this sullen man.

I envision legs wrapping, hands grabbing, clawing;
gentle melodies emanating from mouth.
Bodies intertwined, a combustion of our most primitive desires;
my name in her mouth, and hers in mine.
And boy, if I hadn't have seen her on that late, humid, uneventful night,
the opportunity would have passed me by, following the arrow of time,
and this sullen man would beat himself senseless,
and curse himself for being so oblivious,
and never forgive himself for not noticing,
and she would not be mine.
"That's the one, fellas; that's my girl."

Your lips move,
contracting and contorting around
syllables and vowels;
your lips move and
the words are inaudible,
concealed by the deafening roar,
ever so clear,
that rings like a bell
in my ears.

The white light seeps in through the curtains,
of this dream, I am certain.
It's not so bad to be alone,
It's not so bad to be able to hone
those skills with which I have done naught,
but it's something that I have always sought.
I can see clearly now,
I no longer have to bow,
this white light guides me,
though I do not know how.

A dream that I am flying,
a dream that I'm not lying;
touching all the clouds,
hesitantly, I shroud
those things that mean so much;
hesitantly, I shroud
and I am feeble to your touch.

I hear the bells in the distance,
I am there in an instant.
The white light seeps in through the curtains,
of this dream, I am certain.

You show me your world,
catchy pop rhythms,
smiles and childish laughter;
I long for something more,
something different,
something that cannot be described
in words or song.
I know from the beginning
that this cannot be.

I show you my world;
you catch a glimpse through
the twilight gloom,
amongst distant thunderheads.
You can see, in the distance,
a vast, colorless landscape.
Mountains that disappear into the heavens,
endless plains outstretched into oblivion;
this is my world, you see?
This is me.

Your sweetness can be topped,
somewhat, with a cherry;
an ice cream sundae dripping with
warm fudge and decadent condiments.
But this is not me, you see?
This cannot be.

"Good morning, beautiful."
Words like a soft autumn breeze,
caressing, chilling to the touch;
three simple words to form one
complex ecosystem,
teeming with life,
droning with emotion.
I catch a glimpse of a bird,
a distant memory,
a sample of a sound I've heard before,
calming and pleasant.

There's nothing quite as soothing
as a nice, hot cup of coffee;
the milk, forever circling,
entrances this young soul.

Somewhat bitter,
with a sweetness masked beneath;
boy, it gives me the jitters
to recall such a feat.

I trace it's flow,
down
and, for once,
I know exactly what I've found.

Droplets fall straight from the heavens,
women, covering their heads
as they seek shelter,
running to and fro.

A deep rumble emanates,
shaking the Earth and my soul as well.
she caught my attention on that very day,
during that very storm.
Sopping wet, with hair entangled,
what a sight, I must say!
Regardless of her condition,
I found beauty on that very day.

The downpour continues,
never hinting to decease;
my love for her is like that storm,
raging like a beast.