You're still there,
At the end of my fingertips,
Your taste is still there teasing my tongue,
Your sweet face,
Haunts all my dreams,
Your beautiful heart still has its strings,
Wrapped around mine,
Tell me how to let you go,
When everything about you,
Is still living in my chest,
Crawling through the tunnels of my mind,
And leaving soft but painful bruises, on my soul

the way he rolled his cigarettes was godly
and i know baby that you miss how he tastes of smoke and loneliness
and i know that you miss breathing in his aroma of stale coffee and sweat

you told me about how his hands caressed you like you were a whisper
and how he bit into your skin like you were something to be devoured

Poetry is eating a bowl of tear soaked ice cream in an empty parking lot at 2 in the morning. Its escaping well needed sleep to google synonyms for heartbreak. Poetry is heartbreak. It is grief, misery, sorrow, it is making a playlist on spotify made up mostly of ed sheeran and Bon Iver. Poetry is pulling over to write because you finally found a line that accurately expresses the way your heart gives itself an indian burn at the thought of his name. Poetry is a whole stanza dedicated to cliche metaphors about your heart. It is losing his and putting yours back together. It is taking duct tape and staples and gorilla glue and seeing which works the best. It's finding out what's most durable, it is making you more durable. Poetry is looking up at the stars just to remind yourself that you're insignificant. But it is also learning that you are significant. It is holding your breath just so you can gasp for air. It is speeding up at a yellow light. Poetry is the yellow light. It is deciding whether you should stop or keep going. It is running with asthma but forgetting your inhaler. It is making it to point B. Poetry is finding a point B. It finding a reason to set an alarm, a reason to go grocery shopping or to do the laundry. A reason to pay the phone bill or put gas in your car. Poetry is opening a window after its rained. It is playing an instrument for the first time in years, it is catching up on a tv show that you forgot about. Poetry is making sure that nothing is forgotten. It is the minds magnifying glass. It is finding every crack and speck of dirt and learning to love them anyway.

How to date a mormon when you're not mormon.
Step one; Refrain from using the phrase "oh my God" when around his parents because I swear to God, they will mention it at every family dinner.
Step two; Hold the polygamy jokes, he will not think it's funny.
Step three; Do not google what happens in the Temple...and when you do google what happens in the temple, don't try to do the sacred handshake with him...
Step four; Try not to compare his religion to a cult because.. ******* it, be respectful.
Step five; When he says that he respects you and your religious views, know that he's already planning your next trip to the temple.
Step six; when he takes you to the temple, remind him that you will never get to see the inside and when he tells you that the curb appeal is enough, know that he'll always be wanting more.
Step seven; When he decides to attend a mormon based school, realize that cost is not the only thing he's running from. And when you find out that the school requires him to spend time with a group of girls once a week, as "family home evening", trust that its only once a week.
Step eight; When he's forced into
The singles ward, remind him that it doesn't mean anything. And then convince yourself that it doesn't mean anything.
Step nine; When a girl answers his phone for the first time, tell yourself that curb appeal means nothing..Tell HIM that curb appeal means nothing. That walls are just walls, no matter how they're put together; that doors are just doors, no matter how they open and windows are just windows, no matter how blue. Tell him that curb appeal does not matter and he will listen to you...he will enter and he will explore every floor. Take notes on every room, leave fingerprints on every doorknob. He will make himself at home and wave to you from the inside and you will finally understand when he invites you in to show you a ring on the temples left hand..and you will tell him that he was right. A curb view is more than enough.

Delilah baby I can feel the weight of you in my arms.

I can feel my k to z love for you and see how that laugh of yours makes people cry
and how that smile pierces my heart because it looks just like his did.

I can feel the sun kissing each one of our toes as we sit overlooking the grand canyon in the kaleidoscope sunset.
your spider fingers are wrapped in my hair like a plea to never be left alone
your spindle legs are all knobby kneed and pale entwined with mine.

baby he left me not you.

I was a hurricane and he loved you too much to look

afraid that one glance and he'd be head over heels reeling out of control
like you were the drug and he was the addict.

they say everything happens for a reason and you are my reason.

Delilah baby you are the here and the now of forever.
the stop sign on the corner is an obstacle for street racers but its a godsend because its just enough of a pause for me to kiss you between the eyes.

and I can't ever finish anything so this story isn't complete

and at the top of the pass where the air is clear enough if we sing loud enough maybe he will hear us and remember who he left behind.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.