In a way this sort of feels like school.
One moment we're curiously writing and passing notes to each other.
The next we're caught and sent off to detention.
I never knew which box you checked.
Yes.
No.
Maybe kinda sort of.

There's a lesson to be learned from all of this.
Which one I am really not sure.
I wasn't paying attention.
Instead of studying.
Here I am writing another note.
It never really occurred to me.
That while the teacher is teaching.
Filling us with what passes the time.
Life happens behind his back.

The context of how competitive everything is.
In retrospect.
What did you get for number 2.
A.
B.
Or C

Which answer dictates how fast he turns around.
One day soon we'll both know

Your voice forms the bricks
Of a well built home.
It holds in warmth on a hot day
And stores heat on the cold days.
Your voice is a shelter
One that thunderstorms should fear.
Regardless of strength.
Once it dissolves.
Embers of warmth
Still reside within the bricks.
When you speak,
I find that I am home.
A place I am whole.
A place I am safe.
I always know where you are.
Even with both eyes closed.
Between the mortar of bricks
I find your breath
And lay my head beside yours.
The walls a rich tapestry
Framed in communication,
Filled with your breath and pulse.
I live in your marrow.
My every forgotten dream
Rested and remembered.
Your voice forms the bricks
Of this well built home.
Reminding me
That love. Is not just a word

She offered me a glass of water from the tap.
Delighted by the fact I happily accepted.
This wasn't like anything I've ever tasted.
I've never had Evian but I'd bottle it the same.
This particular taste wasn't accompanied by anything sour.
A strange taste that makes your face scrunch.
Before I knew it I drunk the glass whole.
Fiji water is an acquired taste.
But all in all I still enjoyed it.
I asked for another glass, feeling each ripple swish around my mouth.
All water doesn't taste the same and this by far.
The best water I ever tasted.
Ice included.
Fogging the outside of the glass.
Fingerprints forever stained.
If I was a fish I'd be in heaven.
The correctness of solely something to become apart of.
The importance that signifies how great this is.
The human tongue is an amazing thing.
Enjoying the spring water that flows directly from the well of your heart

She walks in, her eyes like soft pencil lines.
She smiles when she looks at the waitress,
ordering a coffee.

I sip mine slow, looking out the diner window.

“You always draw this late?” she asks.

Only when I can’t sleep. Or when I’m hungry.
Just depends on which one happens first.

She rolls her eyes.

Falling feels like a good pen that suddenly runs out of ink.

Normally, when I draw, I’m in my own little world.
No conversation. Just my graphite and my sketchpad.
Of all the beautiful colors that life can arrange,
I admit—I’m intrigued by this woman.

I completely put my pencil down and let my coffee get cold.
But that’s how fast inspiration strikes.

This grayscale drawing, splashed with the rainbow that is her.

Although I’m listening, I keep my head down,
pretending I’m still drawing the picture I was working on
when she first walked in.

She sits two booths away, hesitating before asking,
“Can you draw me?”

I look up immediately.
“You’d have to come closer.”

I catch the reflection of the city in her eyes—
the blinking sign outside, the brake lights from the cars.

I flip the page and start tracing lines on my sketchpad.

She tilts her head, watching my progress.
I ask the waitress for a refill.

“Do you ever draw people you don’t know?”

I look at her, smile, and say, “No.”

At some point, we see everyone before we really meet them.

In a way, it wasn’t a lie.
I have seen her somewhere before.
Or at least, I’ve thought of meeting someone
who looks the way she looks.

But then again, art is subjective.

She watches me over the rim of her mug as she sips her coffee.

She leans forward.
“What do you see when you look at me?”

The most beautiful things happen at unexpected moments.

Normally, when someone asks a question like that,
if you answer too fast, it’s a lie.
If you take too long, it’s a lie.

Before I knew it, I told her:
“Someone that talks to strangers when she’s bored.”

She rolls her eyes.
“Let me see.”

I show her the sketch,
point at it, and imitate her voice.
“Can you draw me?”

It’s not exactly polished.

She studies the rough graphite,
scratched to life between the pores of the page.

She rests her elbows on the table.

Before she answers, I speak first.

“I think about what things can be, versus what’s presented to us.
If we tell each other something deep about ourselves—
a strong 7.5 out of 10—it’s going to be either forgettable
or full of ****. Either way, we’re both hoping
not to regret opening up
to someone who’s just going to nod and smile.”

She smirks.
“If I told you I love the progress on the picture so far, what then?”

I shrug.
“I’d still think you’re full of ****.
But you’re kind of cute.”

Falling feels like a good pen that suddenly runs out of ink.

To be honest, I don’t think it’s the uncertainty of where I’d land.
I haven’t exactly lived my life by the advice I give other people.

I never really think about the end of things.

Whatever I do, I just go with it and expect the best.
I think about it, of course.
But eventually, the ink runs out.

That’s just life.

Although I’m drawing her physically,
in my mind, I’ve drawn the curve of her neck twice over.

The thought of drawing someone else
doesn’t even come to mind

I have run from you
one time too many
Finding myself out in the open,
There aren't too many places
to hide.
I've slid between the spaces of your fork
now you have me pinned,
I have run from you one time too many
I hope that you have mercy on me.
Along the lines of patience
I realize that mercy may be asking too much
But until now I've realized how big your teeth
really are.
With no place to run & your fork fast-ly
approaching there is no where else on this plate
to run.
I have run from you one time too many
and after tasting your lips
I question myself
Why did I run in the first place

When I think of you.
The first thing that comes to mind is your smile.
I always find it at the most unexpected time.
Coming across it in a world where everything seems cold.
Although it's been a short time.
This smile of yours is selfless; kind, patient.
Although Valentine's Day is highly celebrated.
Out of three-hundred sixty-four days.
I hope that your able to smile your biggest smile.
On days when your schedule is full
On days when your tired and look forward to the minute you get to yourself.
When I think of you.
I hope that you are still courageous enough to turn that frown upside down
In a world where everything seems so cold,
You never know how big an impact you make,
With something as simple as a smile.
How fast time flies when your lips reveal this gift
that you constantly give

You live between the space
of my fingers,
the caress between my lips.

I only remember when I forget.

Like last night
I thought of you, and it felt like
you were there.

Suddenly, my hands felt like yours
Were there.

Creep is such a bad word,
But there is no other way
to describe it.
I swear I was not thinking about you
only to realize that I was.

And then, I felt the familiar weight of your presence.

You live between the space of my thoughts,
somewhere that's not a dream
but also not just a memory.

When I close my eyes,
you are there,
and I question if you're thinking of me.

Every time I think
and I realize it—
you disappear.

But the weight
the weight of you
I'll never forget.

I only remember when I forget

I gave you my heart when no one was looking.
The time taken to realize how mature we've become.
I fooled myself into believing substitutes are better than substance.
None of this was true.
Giving perspective to how I sought what I already have.
What I gave was vital.
Exchanging hands while no one looked.
A different insight to what we digested.
How well we perceive.
Learning to be patient while everything around moves.
I gave you my heart when no one was looking
Because it is something that is not easily obtained.
To show a side of me that no one else sees.
Over by the table while no one was looking because what's between us
should stay between us.
I waited until no one was looking as people do things out of spite.
Disguising my heart in a red solo cup.
Careful not to spill a single drop
handing you this cup.
How careful your lips were.
The assumption that forever has an interchangeable appearance.
It was never about what I could buy you.
The exciting places I could take you.
Sure these things come with time,
But the experience of experience itself.
Is what I obsessed with until the very moment.
The momentary happiness material things bring never lasts.
Just as the cup is disposable.
It's the contents that are most fragile.
Cleverly disguised due to our environment.
I felt at ease.
Giving this piece of me to you.
Not of fear.
Not of shame.
This warmth shared in personal awareness.
Your tastebuds the only witness to
What's kept between you and I.
The rest of the party carried on.
While no one was looking we created our own playlist.
Songs beginning with you and I.
Nothing digested ever stays put

In enough time she disappears.
Although close she's gone.

The utterance of nothing at all, the smallest laugh to herself.


If by chance you notice the new heels.
She's gone out the door.
When you ask what's wrong, the answer will always be nothing.
Caught in a gaze.
She doesn't mind the compliments.

Knowing it doesn't go anywhere.
The random men that take outside appearance.


The new songs she's heard.
The ones you sing back to yourself not paying attention to the words.

If you know her well enough.

Deep down you know somethings wrong.

She'll never say a word.

She sways a different sway.

Each new dress moving closer to the front of the closet.
When she's gone you'll feel a bit of a sting.
Wondering where she's at, where she's been.

Most times she's to herself.
Driving around the town.
Maybe to get a drink, watch a movie to herself.
You can't tell why she's listening.
Casually finding all these new songs.
If by chance you confront.
She'll tell you she's always known them.
Laughing to herself.
If you truly knew, you wouldn't have to pretend.
It's hard for her to come back

With the slightest touch I grow wings
And I am able to see the things I couldn't before.
A second chance to grab on with both hands.
I believe everything happens for a reason,
The path of your smile lies in wait.
Finding excess need.
The times I couldn't catch my breath.
The maturity of being open.
To elope in a touch that brings the next moment that much closer.
The pretense of spending my time soaring known that you were the reason why.
The full disclosure of trust in a none apologetic moment.
The only problem is figuring out where we land.
Do we even have to come back.

Some nights you
were the moon.
Sailing through waves of milk
Before disappearing
into the vulnerability
Of what we keep on the inside.
It's no wonder why cookies
Are so popular.
The outer edge
drenched in saliva,
Curiously protecting
what's kept Precious.
A slight pause before everything
Is mushed & swallowed.
Some nights you were the moon.
Drenched in white fudge
Swirling in a universe all of your own.
Some nights you were the universe
Itself

She stands in the shower.
Running her wash cloth across
Her body.
the slow rise of *******,
the arch of hips,
the curve of a neck.
The day she's had
Swirls around the drain
Between the space of her toes.
All that's left is the smell of soap.
Against her skin.
Her washcloth is not as white as it was.
She lets out a sigh.
Letting the hot water crash
Against her body.
Ringing it out before 
Soaping up the rag again.
Her body becoming softer.
Erasing every touch, every stare
That isn't her own.
Vigorously scrubbing.
The remnants of soap drip
Down her legs.
I knock on the door before
Poking my head in to check on
Her.
She hangs her head out with a smile.
The smell of soap and water
Glisten off of her light skin.
Before she closes the curtain back,
I ask if she needs help washing her
Back

I was never mad that you lied about the smallest of things.
The things that hurt the most when found that they were indeed true.
If anything you taught me that sometimes faith can easily be misplaced.
Over time it became hard to look in your eyes,
A place I found myself disappearing to often.
Confusing truth for comfort,
Realizing that in a world of fabrication, The best truths are raw.
Often unclothed. A natural happening.
This is what lured me to your eyes.
Not once paying attention to what was going on around me,
Not until the last minute.
The things taken for granted.
The unease hesitation of hands. A certain anxiousness
That shook with the reach of your hand.
Slowly watching a different you appear.
No longer soft, genuine.
Left with the answer to why most facades exist.
A simple truth I myself overlooked in the way that I loved you.
Instead, taking gallons of lighter fluid.
Soaking every inch of myself then placing the box of matches in your hand.
Knowing the outcome. Knowing the difference between right and wrong.
But still having faith that you wouldn't do the things I knew you would.
This was the faith that I had that you were exactly who you said you were,
that you loved me the same exact way that I loved you.
Misconstruing the spark from the box of matches as the spark I seen when we first met.
Mistakes are not uncommon, in most cases it's what's done after that really matters.
Despite the sudden jitters that overwhelmed you, I provided my arms as a place of shelter.
A place that without question, you'd know without a shadow of a doubt would always have comfort.
Never truly realizing that most things of that nature are treated as one sided.
A incomplete truth, selfish in the same nature. 
No matter what superficial truth I saw you wrap yourself in to grant ease of comfort.
I was never mad at you,
How could I be mad at you for being who you were all along.
Learning a fraction, as to why wolves often choose sheep's clothing

And like a bird
She flies away.
She sings her song in ultimate joy.
Her heart flutters.
Singing what comes to mind.
Soon as she is approached.
She flies away.
The wind beneath her arms.
She goes higher and higher.
Stopping in mid air,
Her arms tired & sore.
The life she deserves isn't far.
Gliding towards the horizon.
Soon as she finds peace.
It is easily disturbed.
Looking around to find the best place.
Seeking shelter she flies further.
Appearances aren't at all what they seem.
For this she is labeled and taken for granted.
Curiously placing one foot in front of the other.
Veering the opposite direction.
Her heart falling faster and faster.
They don't know her worth.
She flies higher and higher

And it's moments like this
I'd wrap my arms around you.
You'd disappear, head against my chest.
A thousand pieces coming together.
Our eyes closed, curled together in each other's arms.
Each moment prolonged.
Held tight.
Your body against mine.
An eternity in my arms.
Total control of our philosophies.
Unconditional.
Adored.
Suddenly you'd disappear.
Not an ounce of weight could be felt.
Sometimes opening my eyes.
Finding you nice and nestled
Between the width of my shoulders

I want the seat closest to the window.
Boat, plane, bus, passenger seat
Ma'am if you don't mind,
could you please scoot down
while I take my seat.
My feet are tired.
I have been standing on this concrete all day.
Almost sleep on my feet,
The same problems exist at the front of the bus
just as the back.
If you could see past me, you'd see.
Yet you turn your nose and grab your purse.
All I want is a seat to rest my feet.
Lay my head back and dream.
I don't want to wear your chains today.
The chains used to justify what you see on the news.
How you can't see anything past me.
How you've wrapped me in chain from shoulder to feet.
You don't try to hide your look,
I can feel the heat on the back of my neck.
How you pick and choose what you like,
There is no difference between you nor I,
Except color,
Other than gender.
You watch me from the corner of your eye while I take my seat.
There once was a time when I'd have no choice but to sit in the back.
Now that I take my seat in the front you move to the back
A look of disgust across your face.
Boat, plane, bus, passenger seat.
Ma'am if you could,
would you please scoot down
While I take my seat.
All I want is a seat beside the window without having to explain why
I want to sit this close to the window

It is possible.
To leap beyond where fear takes us.
Surely so many things happen.
By contrast
We stand still.
Wound up in total curiosity.
To dream in wonderment.
With each twirl we captivate the essence of someone else.
A sort of inspiration that convinces us that we are more than what we believe.
Beginning to walk,
Our other functioning parts come to life.
Embraced in true courage.
Spun around and round.
This huge metal behind it's back.
Suddenly this obstacle isn't what it seems.
First finding what is important.
The touch of someone else
Through encouragement.
The wind-up doll begins to move
No longer incapable by what we define as fear,
But enormous faith.
To place all of it's self in another
Without fear of adding another chip to it's face.
It waddles along.
Moments later,
Pride interferes.
It's movements stop.
To be spun up again and again
Falling to the floor
Seconds at a time

Some fears are simple.
Others are not.
Joy murmurs above.
We crave patience.
Twisting the top off each other's head.
Who first insults permission.
Applying our hands as cups.
No longer dull to the vapor of how we feel.
We recline in long verse.
Spudders of interruption.
The rush of anticipation.
Pressed against the couch.
Some fears are simple.
Others are not.
Opening up to you without cease.
Frequent sips of red wine.
Tilting you over filling my cup.
Eager to sip in weighed sway.
I hear and smile.
Feeling the effects.
How you laugh.
How you smile.
It's funny how time flies.
Leaves in Spring.
Blown away, scrunched up in the crinkle of your dress.
Rustic brown & red accented in black.
Some fears are simple.
Others are not.
There's no alternative.
I'm an alcoholic.
Pursuing sip after sip.
Civil in how we converse.
Neighboring bold taste

Middle of Winter,
A flower sings the blues.
Painted red then brown.

If the world were ending tonight
You'd still make time for me
wouldn't you?
Even if it were all in your head


If the world were ending tonight
you'd still give me the same smile
you always give, right?


No matter the crumbling buildings
& people playing hop scotch
Avoiding the large craters in the earth.

You'd still make time just before
the final impact,
Before we're wiped into oblivion, right?
 
On top of crumbling cars
& huge chunks of rock.
Even if it were all in your head,
would you still come over & make believe
that everything is alright?

If the world were ending tonight,
would there still be time
to go some place nice,
Even if it were all in your head

There she sat.
Leaned forward in my arms.
It felt like she belonged there.
My arms.
Her head nestled in the center of my chest.
My arms stretched around her shoulders.
Wrapping tight around her.
Honestly between us both I don't know who felt more comfortable.
Me or her.
The urgency of need. Warmth.
Her arms un-tucked from the center of her chest.
Wrapping underneath my arms. Squeezing the small of my back.
I love the way she hugged me.
I felt a sense of security. Holding her as close as I could.
I watched as she turned her head and made herself more comfortable.
This was who we were.
Explaining everything that needed to be said.
Reciting everything within arms reach

Seeing your face
Lips soft and brown.
When I see them
I've found a place I want to be.
A place I want to belong.
When I stare at them
I instantly hear your voice & I melt.
The pound of my heart intensifies.
Almost beating though my chest.
Anxious in desire.
A knock that signifies that I've thought about you.
Another knock that anxiously awaits you to open the door.
An invitation issued by passing eyes.
Glances that have kissed you a thousand times over.
To be the chapstick that shines when you reach in your pocket.
A desert in search of oasis,
To be the next phrase that slips through.
Unmarked by pause.
The thought of our eyes closed
Uninterrupted.
The thought of a kiss that leads to packing everything I own.
Moving to the closest part of your face.
With lips soft and brown.
My heart steadily pounds.
Stopping at the leasing office.
Everything I own packed

The next time we meet,
We will wait until dark
that way we can take the stars & dip them in chocolate
without need for milk.
Our memories becoming this more desirable,
This more delicious.
Just you & I
underneath a chocolate sky.
Counting the stars one by one as we take huge bites.
Lost in our own little world
Just you & I.
Vulnerable to the outside world
without a clue to why
our mouths are covered in chocolate
We'll crunch the stars like the world was ending.
The next time we meet,
We will wait until dark
that way we can take the stars & dip them in chocolate
without need for milk

This morning I caught the blues.
I stood on the edge of the spoon with nowhere to go.
I tied my shoes and searched for my muse.
There she sat, distance postponing an ooze of stew.
With the end of the ladle short.
The end of the table so far. I sat.
I felt like a schmuck,
sitting on the edge of the spoon.
This hunger pang unfair.
Following me ladle to the tip.
A table clothed in decoration.
I envied the way it loathed.
Laying flat with no idea of what was going on.
It would never know the hunger that ached mid-spoon.
The ingredients that drove this passion.
The smell, the feel of steam that rose from the middle of the bowl.
The meat, the vegetables.
The brew of broth I longed to taste.
This space mid-spoon.
My heart raced in mourning
Standing on the edge of the spoon

Brown skin like coffee
Lips sip in sensuous aroma.
In brown porcelain,
Fill my hands & explore my taste.
Fill my lips
With your brown skin.
Inside my rough hands
Dots of you remain
I love how your body makes me feel
Your mouth, your hands.
All of you.
Brown skin like coffee
I hunger for the harvest of my tongue
Against yours.
Hot, yet warm to the touch
Brown skin like coffee
I love the stickiness you
Leave behind

From the iron works of my mind. 
I invite you to drink comfortably from the cog of warm longing. 
Steel beams and steel rods set in heavy slant.
From block hats to angler clothing. 
I invite you to the splendor of ships sailing across a mug of spewed oil. 
If only for a while to delight in 
Iron plates along with nuts bolts and other various knick knacks. 
With handles attached to the back of our necks we'd gladly suffice the steam filled cups, the ticking of grinding gears. 
Oiling the pipes of gentle longing. 
Behold the giant structures wrapped around glass eyes with shaded tint, 
Metalized lens and hydraulic jacks enticing fascination, 
Here 
Between the clock towers of umbrellas and block hats. 
All is quiet. 
Oiling the pipes that crave but a simple thirst. 
Watching the steamships sail across an mug of oil. 
Taking turns sipping from the nape of bolted necks and mechanical hands. 
Please won't you join me

I love the words you speak
For they reinforce the ideal in which hands speak.
A warmth that can't be heard, only felt.
A bonfire released in a cylinder.
The crackling of dopamine like wood.
Branches that provide warmth in times you aren't around.
The times dawn can be found in the palm of our hands.
The waking of primal urge where words do no justice.
It is there I find you.
Each crackle, every ash of residue where we've rested.
For you are the fire lit in body.
The cylinder that keeps me warm.
No matter how far away you are I melt in thought.
Urging to move closer.
Alas you welcome it.
Open flames that lash out without regard where it touches.
Our love is one of eternal scaring.
The wind lifting each flame higher.
The preference of action over word.
The concrete stained, scared.
Our warmth attracts the attention of the sky.
In brief hesitation we overheat.
Knowing only to collapse.
This is what it feels to kiss every word that slips through your lips.
In eternal heat.
A ring that burns in depth.
A sign that we were forever here.
I am drained.
The sap and moisture comes to a boil.
I am forever spoiled.
Forever yours.
Alas I welcome it.
The residue of what we've become.
A bridge of me, given to you.
Stacked and piled high.
A match thrown in need.
Without fear we provide each other in eternal warmth.
The sky borrows our heat.
This cylinder that can no longer contain this fire.
Distributed as red orange.
The look exchanged eye to eye.
The beginning and end of all we'd ever know.
The smoke covers as clouds.
I am reminded every time I look up

While the world is asleep
I lie awake in a dream that feels real
because I am with you.
They'll lie still and we won't disturb
them.
It's you that I only get this feeling
around.
I accept that I am awake because you
are here
There is no other fact.
While the world is asleep
I want to explore everything that I can.
Without interruption.
Without the triple bypass of work.
More than enjoying your company for
what it is.
Like croissants in Paris
After climbing the Eiffel tower with you
on my back.
Or counting how long it'll take to bend
the curvature of the tower into the
shape of your heart.
While the world is asleep
They'll lie still and we won't disturb
them.
& When they awake,
They'll think it was all a dream
By the time we finish explaining what
took us so long to get back

The simple things are often said to be the best things in life,
As the opening of doors are better than the sound of closed doors.
The silence of sheets laid still under a thick comforter.
You and I.
Walking down the hallway hand and hand.
Staring in the window of each others soul.
Sharing a laugh or two in the midst of deep conversation.
Something silly, something witty.
Something simple.
Someone like you.
Someone to share a laugh in relation to how similar we saw the world growing up.
Did you really think it would end so fast.
Growing up to see how much we differ, how many things are still the same.
Fighting over what to watch, what we're going to eat if we ever manage to get out of the bed.
Old habits die hard especially after a long day at work.
The simple things that bring us closer together.
Whether we decide to go out and try something new or lay here a moment longer,
No matter how much we get on each other's nerves.
I'll still kiss your forehead
As it's the simple things that make life worthwhile

I fell into an absent minded slumber,
One where it was impossible to raise,
Unable to rise from which I fell I found an mattress of curiosity which I continuously fell under the conditions which I could barely explain.
I seeped deeper feeling every thread of fabric.
Giving myself something perhaps I didn't know existed.
I abandoned what I knew as moral reasoning.
Instead, choosing to let this sensation take control.
For once I felt like I had found a place that felt like home.
In every sense of the word.
Existing in every sound my heart chose to utter where words only complicated everything.
I found passion in exploring the unknown, the constant thought that loomed every thought I came face to face with.
The comforter splashing beneath me grasping the back of my head. The back of my body.
I refused to fabricate this as a scandal,
Giving myself something I've never before experienced.
Allowing myself to become attached to every fiber, every thread.
Lukewarm flutters wrinkling beneath my body, the pleasure of falling in complete comfort.
I conclude hating myself for not experiencing this subtle sensation sooner, for not desiring to break away from what I thought was life in it's full meaning.
Instead allowing the full embodiment of acceptance.
Finding that I was the only thing holding me back
Falling into the liberation of her heart
I've still yet to wake

I love the way you please me
The way you find time out of your busy day.
I love the way you appear mostly out the blue.
Whether it's for a couple of hours
or a couple of minutes.
I am always glad you came through
To make my day a bit brighter.
It may not always seem like it
but I love these moments spent with you.
Not because of what we do
But simply because it's you.
It doesn't have to be anything over the top.
You don't have to look your best for me.
It's always a surprise to see how you've took time
out of your day just for me.
Away from the harsh demand of work
The craziness of getting from point A to B.
To arrive at my door and we just be.
I love the way you put a smile on my face

Your name is the kind of name that makes you want to fall in love.
A not so common thing, my sistah.
The expression that appears across your face.
Planning our wedding day in verbatim to the rhythm of our heart.
Learning to dance between the gap of each throb.
Planting the seeds of unity now, so we can one day look back and see how much we've grown together

Your voice is like my favorite song.
I'm not quite sure how to explain it.
Soon as you speak my soul is instantly combustive.
A deep echo heard in the farthest region of my soul.
Standing there, roaming free.
Each peak skydiving into the ripple of my heart.
This edgy parapsychology that ceases to end.
Doused in gasoline, ignited, remade anew, soon as the door way to your mouth
is opened.
Never fading.
This majestic feeling that you give.
I wish my headphones had a higher setting.
To take in more of you.
Each throb against my ear drum
Echoes In perfect excitement.
My heart pounds in anticipation.
A pool of gasoline touched by a spark of fire.
A bright blaze taken place inside the well of me until there is nothing left inside.
This is the effect you have on me.
Waiting to hear your voice climb the peak of where I stand
In the farthest region of my soul