A hermit crab
In love with his bongo.
Scuffles on with his bongo beat.
Each thump filling the empty space
Around him.
He walks the hot concrete.
In search of something like home.
His shell dragging behind
Weighing him down.
The thump no longer loud enough
To move its tiny body.
The rhythm barely rattling around its
shell.
After a while everything can turn into a drag.
But still, he scuffles on.
He smiles, stopping to take a break
On the grass.
The concrete burning his feet.
His tiny claws scraping across the bongo.
He looks over to his left.
To find an old boot.
Nodding her head, tapping the ground
Following along to the beat.
Although weathered, she too smiled.
Echoing back his loud thuds.
Her sole cracked but full of life.
Life happens in the strangest way sometimes.
Two outcasts alone.
Drumming up stories without a word.
Scuffling on a bongo heart.
Life doesn't have to be a drag all the time.

And there began our oral history.
Removed from text, living and breathing.
Passed back and forth between lips.
I myself a promise, her oath.
The anxious lump that hesitates in the back of the throat.
The inner most of courage exchanged in deep sigh.
Finding it impossible to hold on to my own words.
I hold on to hers, and it is within this freedom am I truly free.
Without confines to anything, other than ourself.
That we find influence from events current and past. 
Well dressed in each others lips.
We both fold the page.
In exception to our next breath

In the book of her
There is a chapter often skipped.
Soft spoken, never read aloud.
In the book of her
This chapter is chaperone by guilt, regret
A wonderful chapter not easily accepted by those whom thumb straight to it
Often the chapter after is most fulfilling.
This unique chapter is what makes her well her
No fancy words, no editorial staff
Just the thoughts she keeps to herself.
The wonderful thoughts often seen as constellations that fill the night sky
A combustion of goofy laughs Noone hears and conversations amongst herself.
A priceless vocabulary of made up words and unused slogans
A chapter that keeps up with all of her cheat dates filled with loads of chocolate drenched with more chocolate.
The things that are all worthwhile as well as the things that make her feel insecure.
In the book of her
This is one of the best chapters
One hardly anyone stops to read

If my heart were a book
she'd dance across the pages.
Unfolding the creases folded for a later time
Replacing them with the bookmark of her kiss.
Opening each page, carefully reading with the glimpse of each truth,
The resuscitation of closed pages
Now able to breathe.
A survivor of tarnished pages and beaten cover.
She didn't seem to mind, carefree, joyful, what possessed her smile.
Reminding me of a better me, the well being of my very soul
laid in her hands without need for a shelf

A leaf blew downtown
Amongst hands pages flew
Floating about a clean breeze

You are the cover of my favorite book.
& when you open up I am at peace
There isn't a spot of you that I won't
Explore.
From your open arms to your open legs.
We are spontaneous.
In the places we travel.
My fingers but a mark to hold the page.
From my eyes to my hands
I always have time for you.
We are spontaneous
No matter where we are.
No matter who is around
From your open arms to your open legs.
You are the cover of my favorite book.
Your spine stretched against my hands

I had this tremendous fear.
The mist soon all around;
The water around capsizes.
Substance attends, a funeral of sorts.
I've never ventured this far.
Soon they return, looking back.
Fleeing wildish scream.
My former thought bold.
Such my hope.
Resurfacing the ill fated.
The thought of sinking.
Forced to roam in darkness.
Where would I place my feet.
Perplexed, nothing was the same.
Cold, unable to find comfort.
I drifted, longing to chance the size of waves.
Distant waters courteous in expectation.
I too braced for it.
Becoming motionless.
Awaiting descent.

Not all ships sink.
The voyage extended from strangers eyes.
When the wind stops and the sail settles.
Some peculiar gaze, heavily weighed in length.
The ship sinks.
But this I feel far too late.
I am at the bottom.
The bottom of her heart

Each morning she fills a bowl with love.
And my hands become like a spoon.
Nourishing my soul with such a precious gift.
A memory my mouth will soon never forget.
The taste of love

I watch,
And I pull different pieces
Of her out the bowl.
Somewhat tangled and a bit messy.
I twist her all up even more,
And put her in my mouth.
The steam rising fresh from her.
My mouth catches her,
All of her.
Hot, slightly salty.
I love the way she makes me feel.
Eventually, her ways will become mine.
She isn't just some mess in a bowl.
And although I am hungry,
The pieces of her that I drag to my mouth. Are moderate.
I've never tasted anything like this
Before.
She isn't just a quick bite
Of temporary need.
My tongue, my gut,
My soul loves this tangled goodness.
She is my safe space

Through its bend.
It hangs on to a promise.
One that hasn’t been fulfilled.
Its colors now dull,


Cascading from behind the clouds.
Bruised yet, fleeting in the blink of an eye.
It searches. Finding reason to smile.
The sun peeks its head out from behind the clouds.
Catching a glimpse of its beauty.


Someday.
Love won’t feel so constrained.
Giving it something to wrap its arms around.
Through its bend.
A brighter day is just around the corner

Hold me in your brain
Close to memories you're soon
To forget.
Only time will tell, close to things you'll
never forget.
Hold me in your brain with
Things that make you laugh, things
that make you cry.
If for some reason you feel afraid.
I'll be right there.
Reminding you how good it feels
being close to you.
To help if you should ever forget.
Your favorite song to dance to in the rain.
The good memories and also the bad.
I feel completely & utterly safe
Dancing around in your brain.
Deep in the catacombs I hope you don't forget.
Reminding you how good it feels,
being this close to you.
The cover that protects you from all the monsters under your bed.
The fear of being yourself if confronted with something new.
Another thought that eases your brain.
Only time will tell.
Close to the things you'll never forget
To help if you should ever forget.
Your favorite song to dance to in the rain

Each morning she grants me the unique privilege of providing a smile on her face
I know quite a bit about the simple things.
To watch her walk in and delight herself with the croissant of open lips
A splash or two of milk painting her smile.
I just might have to bring her breakfast one day
Just to return the favor

Dead in the center of her heart I found a minotaur.
Of all things a frigging minotaur.
I stood puzzled as we locked eyes.
When I stumbled upon him he was sleep with today's newspaper drenched across his lap.
He bounced up in full guard.
Me being me I asked him for simple directions.
Telling him that I thought I was lost.
I planned on seeing heart shapes maybe a butterfly or two.
A big bunny shape thing or two but you, just wow.
He grinned slightly and said yeah that's the first time I've heard that one.
One step further, I added.
I take it from the amount of drool on the side of your lip you've been sleep for quite a while.
Now I don't mean to intrude on your guarding the labyrinth thing but,
How about you let me *** a smoke and we'll talk about it at the nearest dinner.
After all who can be mad over breakfast

And just like Summer.
Your love warm and hot- like steam.
Coffee best serves two

Of all things,
She opened my mouth and built a bridge only we knew existed.
She arranged pillar upon pillar
Of steel beams.
I struggled understanding what
To do with the left over bolts.
She grabbed my hand
Taking turns throwing them on the outskirts of where we stood.
We stood between the beams,
An incline of sights seldomly seen.
Afraid of heights she rarely looked down.
She'd bury her head in my chest
Very rarely she looked down.
Spoken words clustered in steel beams
Without fear of plunging below.

I loved the way she looked at me.
Even if it was for a brief second, I would always stop what I was doing.
She had a knack for making me forget the simplest of things.
Often times making me stand outside of myself.


She looked at me.
And I was in a full length feature movie.
Surrounded by a bunch of characters before the plot shifts to us.
I'd watch as her pupils dilate.
The way her conversation changed from the way I heard her previously.
Before bumping into me.

 
She'd look at me but wouldn't  see me at all.
She'd see that I had a bit going for myself.
That I had a good head on my shoulders.
That nine times out of ten, I would stop if she seemed like she was in distress.
With so much going on it's hard to tell what's real from fake.

 
Frankly, I didn't mind it.
The way she looked at me.
It's been a while since I've seen myself in eyes that large.
It appeared that I was in a movie the way we met.
The way our conversation would last for hours.

 
Whenever she would speak it made it that much easier to forget that she didn't see me at all.
Honestly I haven't seen me in a long time.
The way that I use to be.

She told me that she never had real spaghetti before.
Of course she's had spaghetti before but not in the sense that made it worthwhile.
When I asked why she replied that it didn't feel real.
That in a sense it was pasta.
She always broke the noodles when she made it.
She developed a fear that everything would boil over and catch fire.
That part of the noodles would be too crunchy.
All of it would never fit in the ***.
Her mother always broke the noodles so it just became habit.
In the same breath.
She told me at least once,
That she'd like to twirl the noodles around the fork.
The complete taste and feel of what makes it spaghetti.
The cheese blending into the sauce.
The big ball of noodles just wrapping around the fork waiting to be bit.
When I asked about the meatballs she laughed,
She was vegetarian

Before I knew it I ate half the bag.
Fifty pounds deliciously resting the bottom of my stomach.
I regret nothing.
Weighing my stomach with my hands.
I tried to save some.
Each piece more than the last.
Resting on the coffee table of her heart.
I didn't expect to eat as much as I did.
A decision made in haste,
I smiled.
Easily reaching into my own bag.
Replacing what I ate with that of my own.
Her pieces taste far better than mine.
Knowing that they belonged to her.
My heart rejoiced in knowing this.
My taste buds on the other hand longed for more.
Savoring the taste.
Ready to reach again.
Her heart, the sweetest candy I know

In an instance,
I felt a calmness sweep across my body.
My body free of any restriction.
Her being my release.
Sweet liberties
Utilized by the touch of lips.
A period punctuated by perched lips.
Released in ounces of color.
The way she loved.
My tongue swirled around hers.
Fingers wrapped around her waist.
Brown peach flavored skin.
My addiction a place for her to stay,
Her bag broken down; piece by piece.
A home away from home.
Until the day she left.
I consulted family, I reached out to friends.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
My vacancy left colorless.
Bland.
My tree grown fruitless
Revealed to me in bitter hunger.
The realization of perception.
Nothing left to fill my hands.
This vacancy punishable by death.
A ****** filled by her alone.
My fingers around her waist.
Her love sticky, sweet.
Swirling around my tongue.
My eyes left low
Anticipating her return.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
I haven't spoken to them since

She unravels herself like a rose  
In the palm of my hand.  
Some of her petals break off  
And lay to the side
The pain of growth,  
Making room for something new.  

She looks me in the eye,  
The tension of letting go  
Of reasonable fear.  
Too many lonely nights.  
The crescent moon of every lie  
Hovers over her head.  

Piece by piece,  
She's laid that insecurity in my hands,  
That uncertainty in her eyes,  
Slowly turning into trust.  
Seeing that I didn’t discard  
The pieces of her that flaked off,  
In my hands.  
Regardless of how bad they look,  
They are a part of her.  

She twists and she turns,  
Her thorns piercing my skin,  
One after another.  
With confidence, I don’t have to tell her  
That I am not afraid.  
But I do so anyway.  

The crescent moon that hangs  
Above her head fills out  
And becomes full.  
As comfortable as she seems,  
Fear still lingers.  
No matter how much she  
Lets go,  
She's been let down before.  

In time, my hands will become  
A vase that will protect her from harm,  
And my heart a place  
That will warm her always.  
When the day comes she knows,  
With certainty, that I am not afraid,  
I will still tell her
I am not afraid

By the way.
I'm not doing anything later.
If you don't have any plans, why don't you throw on some sweats.
Your favorite ponytail and we'll find something on TV.
A little Netflix and chill.
A little takeout and random channel flipping.
A stimulating conversation about old times. Inspiration.
Our dreams. What we hope to be.
I'll call you soon as I settle in.
Hop out of the shower.
Nitpick about the way that you've been on my mind.
The smell of incense and cocoa butter rubbed smooth on your skin.
It doesn't have to be anything spectacular.
A moment filled with the click of heels.
Just the simplicity of a moment filled with you

Through trial & error.
I admit I was afraid to love.
Opening up felt tremendous.
Having known the fear of failure.
I was afraid to drown, admiring the ocean from a far.
The current which she dove.
She'd offer her ocean.
Currents pulled strong only she knew it's depth.
I lacked understanding.
Appearing to move closer,
At which point these currents grew darker.
I trusted myself, longing to become a single wave swirled in thought.
Focused on simple clarity.
I didn't want to be like the rest.
Knowing the beauty she possessed.
I feared drowning the most.
Learning to float.
The buoyancy of reassurance.
The things neither of us said aloud.
In the end it wasn't that I was afraid of love.
It was her that I feared.
Admiring from the shore.
The best thing I've ever known.
Diving in head first

I don't want to leave you,
But in order to better myself I'm afraid I have to.
Mama told me that it'll be days like this.
Daddy told me to learn from everyone you meet.
Shirt now folded, tucked in a bag beneath the bus.
To much disdain, I have to leave now.
Here on the open road traveling down every thought.
A window seat to the world. Open and vast.                                             First person view.
A introvert paused next to a bag lady whom resembles the woman I found in you.
Not too much to say.
Revisiting these old roads etched in my mind.
The thing about memorization.
You always seem to go back when least expected.
Another birth control pill. A baby trying to survive abortion.
A layered bowl of chili in a old diner across the street of an old country town.
High rise wires always seem the same either direction you go

When I'm near you I'm anxious.
At any moment I can explode.
A coloration of floral hues printed across the sky,
Covering you; the night.
Appropriately expanding.
A sizzle awaiting detonation.
Catapulted high.
Nothing to do but fall.
Fall in love with you.
Plummeting down unable to sit still.
Your hand the stripe that surrounds me.
Stars; echo in a crackle.
Change is inevitable.
The glory of being held close,
Counting every second until we burst into pieces.
Wandering around your essence.
Wandering in turquoise yellows & purple strawberries exhaled in smoke.
The moon forever jealous
Every night July everlasting.
The closer I get to you

Does that make it unjust.
That I not share every detail that bursts open inside me.
Every time I hear your name.
Every time that I think about you.
I admit that it comes as unjust.
That it's an unhealthy habit as eventually it has nowhere else to go.
But instead to suffocate everything that it touches.
These butterflies that I keep locked up.
This love that I keep inside.
It fills up inside of me and I fear that if I speak
Everything will ooze on out.
And these butterflies will fly away with no intention of coming back.
The original packaging will have no other use.
But to sit and wait to be filled again.
Unjustly sitting idle with nothing to be filled.
Does that truly make it unjust.
That the most beautiful things are mostly kept hidden in fear.
But before you speak.
What seems as unjust and upright obnoxious is in fact a means to grow.
To flourish into one of the most beautiful things yet spoken.
That what comes off as fear, as a sudden means to withdraw myself
Actually serves as a means to love you deeper than perhaps
what our current environment would allow.
To keep these things that no one else would never know.
And share them with you when the time is right.
In truth you are the most beautiful thing thats perhaps kept me in check.
That without you I would further have no reason to acknowledge
These butterflies that I keep locked away.
Because the most beautiful things in life are destroyed by which
Are not understood.

From the distance
I felt a kiss from you.
Brown lips dressed in strawberry glaze.
Butterscotch peaks,
Marshmallow swirls.
My day made bright in such taste.
Suddenly you don't seem far
Pretty lights and dark shadows fade.
Lips,
Happy and full approach.
Suddenly I am alone with you.
My lips rush to tell
How much I've missed you.
******* in absolute happiness
The gap narrowing
My lips pressed against yours

I said to her
You know, you scare me
That in all seriousness
You may be that one girl whom pushes the one button no one has ever thought to look for

I'm not quite sure though
I mean the boss is around but no one thinks the possibility of saying
Hey what the hell does this button do.

Will anything happen at all

Will alarms go off, horns blaring
Arms tucked at our side running like hell
I mean if anything was to happen we could always blame it on the guy standing next to us
All in good fun,
I suppose persistence isn't the argument
A civil unrest that leads into the most random conversations
Appearing in the most oddest of places doing nothing
Riding the clock amazed at why we've never thought to do this before
The complacent thought

Not troubled by the thrill

a moth flies dangerously close to the flame

A constant change
The flame.

Existing in the real world
The trouble of time
To be honest life without you is simply boring
Wheres the thrill in anything
That chance in getting caught doing the one thing you truly want to do
The one track mind of micromanagement

The constant nag and *******
The leisure of it all
Without the need to look over our shoulder
Except sneaking over to the back office no one ever goes to

This is life with you

This is life without you as well

Tell me in a whisper
Is there anything you'd like to confide.
My lips pressed against your neck
The images seen when eyes close.
My breath hot against your neck.
Almost hyperventilating at a gasp,
Tell me right there in a whisper,
The not so terrible things we can explore.
The lining of your neck,
The rapid beat of your heart.
Common ground my tongue travels.
The loss of control caused by your hands alone,
Pull me tighter
Exposing your ear to my mouth.
In a single bite
A moan travels down your ear
Until it reaches the peak of euphoria.
We've put this off for so long.
These things we try to hide.
Tell me in a whisper how we've waited for this moment.
With me pressed up against you
Your thigh wrapped against mine.
With eyes shut tight this moment we both long.
My fingers hid between skin.
Tell me the grin we both await
Broken by a kiss

Your not just beautiful.
I see you every time I look up.
The star that shines it's brightest.
Filling my life.
The moon lit like a dream.
And forever I stare.
Listening to the silence.
Awaken by a soft light I know it's you.
I can feel your touch hovering about.
Counting the steps until our arms leave our side.
The possibility of traveling from one sphere to the next.
Our eyes but dots in wait.
The question of rockets and big bangs.
The essence of time interlocked between our fingers.
With no room left to breathe, our rocket becomes continuous.
With you, a compilation of light.
Is there any question to why my arms stretch as far as they do.
I gravitate to you, the most beautiful chaos I've ever seen.
To be the space you fill in infinite devotion.
Your not just beautiful, your astonishingly out of this world.
Our arms no longer by our side. the rocket pierces the stratosphere.
We explode internally

How can I be so sure.
There have been many times where I have been sure before.
In fact, surer than sure.
Standing outside of myself; I brush pass every other thought.
A space crowded with nowhere particularly to be.
Except here.
Shoulders brush against the thought of other shoulders.
Irked in irritation; the search of a higher purpose.
 
A casual meet and greet of lips.
A bistro of conversation with neither of us knowing what to order.
We swirled in each others thought.
Becoming the spoons which swirled around in creme and sweetener.
The thought was mutual.
 
We were both generous with our sips.
Both known to the after thought of addiction.
The roof of our mouths drenched with infatuation.
Lost somewhere between the rumbling of our stomach.
And the eying of Banana bread muffins.
Moist in infatuation.
The fulfillment of a connection of something so simple.

I could not see tomorrow without the view of the sunrise reflecting off of your eyes,
If somewhere far off the coast,
The waves echoed soundlessly.
I'd imagine your voice filling the gap in the times you were most happy.
This deep feeling that something was truly missing when on the surface everything appeared fine.
To what response do I owe the hands that created us to be,
What would happen if indeed the waves went without sound.
I dare not think, regardless of their loss of sleep.
The wanting of something deeper, the needing of something that fills the depth of eyes that long for tomorrow.
The three dimensional sphere that revolves around your very thought.
This faith that if the waves should ever stop, that you would be there to lull me to sleep,
Not just with your beautiful voice, but the patter of your heart against my ear,
The innermost faith that reacts without a single thought,
The extension of God's love living and breathing through every move, every thought that you have.
The very beginning of each and every thought I have of you
Without cease or end

I could not see tomorrow without the view of the sunrise reflecting off of your eyes,
If somewhere far off the coast,
The waves echoed soundlessly.
I'd imagine your voice filling the gap in the times you were most happy.
This deep feeling that something was truly missing when on the surface everything appeared fine.
To what response do I owe the hands that created us to be,
What would happen if indeed the waves went without sound.
I dare not think, regardless of their loss of sleep.
The wanting of something deeper, the needing of something that fills the depth of eyes that long for tomorrow.
The three dimensional sphere that revolves around your very thought.
This faith that if the waves should ever stop, that you would be there to lull me to sleep,
Not just with your beautiful voice, but the patter of your heart against my ear,
The innermost faith that reacts without a single thought,
The extension of God's love living and breathing through every move, every thought that you have.
The very beginning of each and every thought I have of you
Without cease or end

In the calendar of your eyes,
I can see myself there everyday.
Marking big X's over the days your face was the first thing I saw when my eyes woke.
Waking up hearing the sink of each thought I've had of you.
Cleansing myself under the very  same faucet.
The stress of the world fading soon as you take me in your arms.
The warmth of you clothed around me in ultimate comfort .
Watching the days turn to months.
Marking X's over days as they pass.
The rainy days cuddled in each other's arms.
Our arms the logs that ignite soon as the fire sparks between our eyes.
The sunny lazy days peeled and tasted on each other's lips.
Until the night falls in the turn of the calendar

My bed may not be as large
As California or have a blanket
As deep as the ocean.
But it’s comfy and shares
The same view as if we were there.
When I am asleep with you,
Everything becomes ideal.
One of the best feelings the universe
Could bestow.
To discover a slice of heaven beside you.
A spoon finding it’s way
To the big dipper, in the same
Lineage of how I see you.
We stargaze with our eyes closed,
Watching the stars bloom like flowers
In complete comfort.
The urge to explore further,
A simple look, a simple smirk
Head nestled deep in a pillow.
The aspirations of becoming an astronaut
Become that much clearer.
I blast off & everything becomes dark
My reflection staring at yours beneath mine,
Until I see your face spread wide
Across the moon.
Happy and safe,
My voyage is now complete

I caught you in the corner of my eye.
If only you could read my mind.
The sweet notations I selfishly hold.
I'd like to think that I've caught you.
Displacing myself in every other word you say.
If you've ever noticed my eyes as close as they are now.
The intimacy of being held close.
Secret longing.
The swift pace that eyes move.
Catching you in the corner of my eye.
On the border of each blink.
Temptation, the watering of eyes.
Terrified to close.
Terrified that when they open you'll be gone.
Having to chase and catch you all over again

I'd do anything to take up space
in her notebook.
Almost anything.
Close to anything.
Most positively not that, but close to that.
A wobbly fall or ignoring a crowd of people.
walking through a double door you’d normally
have no problem walking though.
Most definitely the kind of mistake
that leaves you paralyzed.
Unable to move, taste, or breathe freely.
Paralyzed & left between the pages
she comes back & visits often.
Pages I have to relive every time I see her face.
If she turns her notebook sideways the blue lines
become a jail cell.
If she turns her notebook long ways the blue lines
become a pair of blinds & I fall.
Shifting through the pages until I hit the bottom.
I'd do anything to take up space
in her notebook.
Almost anything.
Close to anything.
Most positively not that, but close to that.
Unless she adds caution tape to the elevator shaft
Of the next skyscraper she draws.
Or maybe I'll just take the stairs

My arms stretched around her.
She rose like a flower.
Blossoming to life.
Her lips a bud.
Flourished full.
I a reddish ceramic.
A reminder that we are grounded.
She filled where I felt most empty.
On certain days she would dance in my arms.
Painting my cheeks rose red.
Creating foundation we both can grow.
Her trust being the ultimate gift.
Arms wide open she dug deeper.
Without soil, water or sun.
I'd stunt her growth.
Our self love being reason to how we feed each other.
Blooming the petals of what became ideal.
I gave without fear that the vase would break.
Butterflies loom over her head.
Watching her grow was the most important thing

One in three women.
Have experienced violence.
The vase inside cracks.

Nonetheless
I refer to you and frankly I cannot stop.
I once heard a gypsy sing not anything of this world.
I doubt her song was for me.
Nonetheless
I referred to her almost immediately.
Unapologetically removing myself from conclusion.
Frankly I just love hearing her talk.
Going from place to place.
Retrospection
It's very likely I never once moved.
Referring to her for immediate assistance.
Establishing chair in wait.
Youthful eyes wild & free.
Unable to tame the sunset.
Her sense of freedom.
Not anything of this world

I remember the taste of your lips.
I searched in panic
Trying to remember the last place
I put you.
Turning my pockets inside out
Conscious of the last time you were here
on my lips
Consciously knowing that I need you now.
It's been twenty-five minutes already
& I am craving the way you lick my lips.
I am in awe, your body pressed between my fingers.
My lips swallowed by your tongue.
I stand in silence.
Punished yet unpunished
The taste of your lips swirling against my lips
Patting my pockets then looking up
To see you've been in front of me the whole time.
Whether several seconds or several lifetimes
I am in constant protest.
If I were to lose you, consciously knowing that I need you now
Unconsciously knowing how much is left in you.
I stand in silence punished yet unpunished
Giving my lips to you
Until one of us parts

I flip the pancake over like  
you've flipped my love for you.  
The skillet hot with butter  
and a splash of oil.  
The batter becomes thick,  
flattening on one side
raising before falling.  
The edges becoming crisp,  
a mix of heart and soul  
and all the simple, consistent
consideration in between.  

When I am alone, I can make  
the perfect pancake.  
But when someone is watching,  
I flip the batter too soon.  
The circle is broken, and the batter  
bakes unevenly on the skillet.  
It still doesn't take away from the taste.  
Sometimes, I still feel like a fool.  

All it takes is the heat of reciprocation
whether the spatula is cheap or  
expensive.  
I eat it anyway,  
just like you've flipped my love for you.  
I brought a better spatula.  
I'll drizzle you in butter and syrup,
and eat until I can't anymore.

My brain is still in prayer,
Following an apology for the same sin about to be committed.
Sort of like the reflections we see amongst ourself in other people.
Pointing out only the things we see in ourselves.
That sort of stand up comic that points fun of that one guy in the front row, never really taking in consideration that same guy could be waiting on him after the show.
That cynical psychology of growing up with siblings.
Would you think twice if you seen chickens standing out of a fast food place.
The ethical influence of hunger dissipating as they
Stand there patiently waiting for the unnext best thing.
Love is relentlessly blind.
A hunger that never really seems full.
Are we the glutens chasing something without a face only knowing taste.
Staring lovingly into each other's eyes but in actuality craving chicken.
What suppresses this urge.
Besides the hope that this Sprite isn't flat

A star fell from the sky.
I picked it up dipping it in a bowl of chocolate.
I watched it sink, gasping for breath in a pool of brown.
Buried beneath the sky where no one would find it.
After a moment, I bit into it.
never before have I experienced such a thing.
A star in the palm of my hands.
Decorated in milk chocolate. An extra pound of sugar.
I bit into it filling my mouth with each twinkle, lost in perpetual bliss.
Hershey's alone couldn't afford to taste this **** good, *******.
My tongue drenched in adventure. Covered in melted chocolate.
The misconception that things aren't as close as they seem.
The only thing about it,
I forgot to wipe my mouth from where I hid your heart

The feel of brown skin swirled around the cup of hands.

With lips soft and full.
I too melt in a passionate place.
With taste of something warm and comforting.
It's hard to rearrange something as divine as touch.
The groove of lips stir such emotion in body and mind.
Setting it priority, forgetting to stand in a moment of euphoric proportion.
An eclipse follows in steady motion.
Without use of sugar or cream.
I stood in a flood of on going cries.
Stained by the rise of steam bold enough to claim where we've stood.
Stained in our essence, her essence.
The depth of her eyes.
A constant motion of sights sitting still.
It's unfortunate, the people whom stand in line.
Their misuse of foam cups, soy blend extracts.
Love shouldn't be diluted with sweetness readily made available.
But instead in consistency.

Rising like steam

This Christmas Doesn't feel like Christmas
Until my eyes decorate your cheeks &
My teeth hang from your bottom lip like
Missile toe.
 

Although the weather changes & Santa
is checking his list.
I am patiently waiting for the warm fuzzy
feeling I get when I am with you.


With my arms stretched around you like Garland
There's no place I'd rather be.
My cheek pressed against yours like a bulb.
My smile stamped in white circling round
Full & bubbly, bright red.


Long as I am hanging around you,
Christmas feels like Christmas

Her body was a city.
Filled with folk who spoke with their hands.
Nothing was ugly. The way that they vocalized.
She lived in the street, watching every little thing come alive.
Her body was a city where most times we sat in the car.
With no idea where we were going.
Most of the time just sitting there with the music playing.
I loved going places with her, most times just sitting still.
There wasn't just one landmark that stood out. Often time loosing sense of direction.
*** heard through the ears of a leaky car and rattling tailpipe.
Her body had a culture of it's own.
Moet' shaped frame, cigar paper still wove tight. Still in the package. 
Rich in the sound that came alive soon as her eyes closed. The same color of her car.
Each little thing contributed to the support of how she dreamed with her eyes open.
The folk whom spoke with their hands. lost in a multitude of conversation.
Everything came  to life with each passing glance.
A few folks walking pass, the corner store still lit.

Sitting in a still car, promoting live art.
The little orange wrench popping up on the dashboard motioning perspective.
Often a soloist, she'd let me visit by the hum of buzzing lights.

Wooden street poles, medium sized plastic aluminum and glass.
We sat under the street light in a mid sized sedan without need for seat belts.
Rich in the sound that came alive soon as her eyes closed.
I myself became a resident.
Following the songs she'd play. 
I'd listen intently often forgetting everything she just said.

The contact of screen to phone. The back drop of  lights ringing in silence.

Volume cut low, Most of the time just sitting there with the music playing.
Everything just seemed to disappear in the percussion her body would make.

The swift motion her hips would make,
The songs she'd mouth to herself.
I wasn't completely hopeless.
Just in love with the blues

I wandered into you by mistake.
But for what it's worth.
The only thing legislation could do for me: Is make you a real city, state.
Only then could you truly see what I see everytime I look at you.
A unconditional love each block I walk.
I belong to you: each part of you, now apart of me.
Lost in the ever blinding light rising over the horizon.
Tall buildings sculpted with the light of your eyes.
Overcoming the dark.
Awaiting the coming of your smile.
Little by little as dawn inches closer

My love for you isn't just a feeling.
It's a civilization.
It's a group formed in unorganized noise.
A commotion of expression purposely existing
the sole purpose of you.
Living & breathing.
A jumbled language overheard.
Stenciled with each patter of foot.
Every horn honked.
Each lane clogged with the thought of you.
A foundation built from the ground up
in means to explore.
A stone age modernized.
Misinterpreted by the desire of fire.
Protected.
Built upon.
Built into the tallest building, which I call your name.
My love for you is like the plane that flies overhead.
Roaring loud in repetition.
Tedious nooks & crannies.
Places to shop, things to see.
All the things I see when I look into your eyes.
My love for you a province of sorts.
The smell seared in a pan. Best served on a plate for two.
A mix of different pastas, vegetables.
Fried in upbeat cafe, different aromas.
The chit chat different versions of me.
Complimenting the very essence of you.
A new building erected with cranes and steel beams.
Plastered dry wall.
Soon opened for your arrival

I disciplined myself in her.
Humbling myself in her mold.
First my body then my soul.
Painting myself with her skin.
She scribbled her name across me.
Using her finger as a pencil, gently scribbling.
I don't want to sound crazy. But I thought she was suppose to be
the object of my affection not the other way around.
I love how she does that

Her heart was like a clock that I wanted to stop and rewind the dial back.
Remembering the beginning.
Following the curve of ticks as everything around disappeared.
The ticks and tonks that throb as pulse.
The blossom of smiles and times that reflected off glass.
To live in the darkness of closed eyes and reflect on genuine smiles.
The whirlwind of dials advancing into a darkness we both never knew.
A familiar scent becoming a door.
Her heart a clock filled with different size springs and dials.
A circular cubicle that sped fast.
A theory of time.
Her heart was a clock that I wanted to stop and wind back the dial to the beginning.
Across arms and lines that separated how much time has really passed