I seen heaven in a dream and like all good things
It ends to soon.
Eight hours narrowed down to short memory.
Lopsided sheets tucked comfortably in a discounted comforter.
Just before I waking up I heard a voice call my name.
A soothing voice layered in comfort.
Not once did I move. A place moist in anticipation.
Very rarely do I get to travel.
And good things come to end too soon.
The memory of smiling faces seen on a lukewarm day.
An older man sat at an iron wrought table.
Reading to himself the details of spaghetti and fork.
A slight twirl of long noodles punctuated by a piece of meat.
Next time I come I'll have to eat there.
By the open door with chalk on a board.

Going to sleep watching the food network definitely has it's consequences.

Being woke from one of the best dreams ever.
The sound of a rumbling stomach.
And an empty fridge

It's hard.
This feeling that easily becomes cozy.
The possibility of being shown something new.
The introduction of new words, new emotions.
Soon to discover fear of loss.
This possibility that brings to life an life altering halt
Before anything major has happened.
A social construct that thrives on reciprocation.
Slouched across the couch.
Found in sudden hesitation.
Wanting to move, but not wanting to lose that comfortable feeling.
The thought of having to find that spot all over again.
It's accumulation of warmth.
Everything that went into finding the good news
Then realizing that you have no one to tell it too.
Or even worse.
Realizing that the remote is on the other side of the room.

In the swift wind.
My hands set sail in a vast
Emptiness.
Weary feet pointed left.
My heart steadfast to the right.
Her heart wild as the wind.
I sailed beside her.

Capsizing in her silk wave.
She was far from quiet, an abundance of thoughts. Opinionated from one wave to the next.
Without a single struggle.
I sank.

I left my supplies by the mast.
Becoming easier to swallow.
Everything scattered.
Topsy turvy in fascination.
She kissed me and I never looked back.

A horn in jazz is a lot like a heart.
At times it blares it's loudest in love.  19

 

At times a pin drops in silence.
The neighbors won't complain. 14

 

I never thought God to be a fan of blues.
My ears like an open door.  17

In a sort of way I was like her pen.
Whenever she needed a place to vent I was there.
In the times when truth was hard to bare. The world a bit colder.
Is when she stained me with her hands. A place she felt most comfortable.
She'd wake out of a dead sleep, to tell me all of her dreams.
The things that kept her up at night. Her fears, her aspirations. 
She inspired me as well.
To give as much as I could.
Knowing her to be all I could depend.
Generous in the way I laid beneath her words.
I remained humble. Replacing my top with every syllable she spoke.
learning to speak in the times she didn't know which word felt best. 
Shutting the world out for moments longer.
In times I wasn't my best. She never minded the ink on her hands.
The moments that became hesitant. Large blotches of ink clogged in a moment of weakness.
The silence of a moment where silence spoke volume.
Closed pen top. The inadequacy of being used until nothing was left.

This was how I viewed the world until she opened me up.
Often times I'd dangle from her front pocket. Kept warm by her side.
Away from all the other things she'd carry in her bag.
In all honesty I loved every story she'd tell.
Shedding light on her perspective of life.

To leave the old me somewhere on a desk
I felt at home living and breathing, nestled between her fingers.
At neither time did we feel we'd run out of ink.
Scribbling her pain, her pleasure 
With my fingers.
And I, curled up in a blanket until the sun rose in her eyes

Sing me a song.
Sang me one them short but long songs,
One them type songs you like to sang that I like to hear about.
To be honest I don't care what you sang.
Just put one word in front of the other and move your lips.
God knows your the only thing that keeps me calm.
And your the closest to heaven I got.
When I got you everythangs gonna be alright.
I'm gonna pour me one of them long weary drinks and escape to whatever key you sang.
My life got nothing but holes.
I'll be ****** if you didn't fill every one of em.
If it ain't one thang its another, then you die.
At the end of this long weary drank.
I'll stop all the clocks. No particular place to be.
I'll knock on an angels door,
What ever key you sang.
Sing me a song.
Make it long and pretty

The people around disappear.
My voice makes its way home.
Finding comfort in your ear.
You resonate within my heart.
Stirring a soul that no longer knows fear.
In the end all that I knew before will no longer exist.
Everything chipped and shattered in a million pieces. 
Sheer signs of destruction.
But still I drunk, knowing the full consequence.
The shaping of objects that no longer obstruct view.
The people all around completely unaware.
The existence of something awoken by a single thought.
Pulled in by the urge of a single whisper.
Spilled from the brim of hand to mind.
A sweet substance grown to stick as it cools.
The thought of being held, embraced in the flicker of light.
A moment worth being withheld a moment longer.
Not a moment to criticize nor. but a moment of introduction.
To take such gift and wish that this could last for more than a moment.
More than two.
To stir something so factious. So addictive.
At that moment I realized what I was missing