Taming of the Shrew


I would do anything for you,
trembling avowed,
summer swept
sweet lipped,
sugar dipped
surrender
I become:
a Victorian sonnet  sailing;
the river banks of Seine
when you are near,
thirsty love ,
bistro champagne
oils,
parasols and bubbling dreams,
tickle all my senses
shimmering of moonlight
kisses breathe into me
the lights of shooting fire
flowers, and my
errant tongue
is stilled.

The optimist
A person who always
Looks for the the silver line

A pessimist
The guy who's view
Is always obscured
With stormy clouds

And the realist
Who keeps an eye
On the other two
To make sure
They don't run into any walls
While their busy staring at clouds.

I've never really loved the look of "perfect" on a person.

But I've loved crooked teeth
and chapped lips
and the rips in his sweater
and calloused palms
and acne scars along his jawbone
and eyes that are slightly slanted upward
and pant legs that are too short
and watches worn with the time set two minutes early
and hair that always looks the same
and loud voices in libraries
and quiet whispers at crowded parties
and twisted ****** expressions
and dilated pupils
and the way too much of his gum shows when he smiles
and beauty marks in secret places
and the same white t-shirt worn over and over again
and eye colours that are indistinguishable
and cold, blank stares at 3 am
and hopeful stares at the break of dawn
and messy writing that's hard to read
and untied shoe laces
and lisps
and stutters
and jeans worn too low
and fists that make holes in walls
and breath that reeks of coffee
and lips that taste of tobacco
and eyelids that are heavy after a long day
and fading bruises
and bushy eyebrows
and clumsy feet
and hunched postures
and hands that are always too cold
and bandages stuck onto odd places
and cologne that's a little too strong...

 because I think that showing what is imperfect is what makes a person worth loving.

Knowing is always better than not knowing.
                                                        ­                                               Every
                                                           ­                                                      single
                                                          ­                                                                 time.

He sits there
in the back of my mind
always there

but the problem is
youre miles away from where i am

The image
Of your tongue
Gently caressing
My spine
While
You're pulling
My hair
From behind
Brings thoughts
To mind
That make
My heart race
And I'm sure
Nothing could replace
That emotion
As you trace
Little hearts
Down my chest
With your calloused
Fingertips
Or that look of lust
That appears
With every
Sway of my hips
Or how the sight
Of me
Licking my lips
Makes you
Lose control
And you
Don't even know
How often
These images appear
But for now
It's just dreams
Until you're here
Holding me
Touching me
Kissing me roughly
Squeezing me
Pounding me
Biting be softly
I just can't wait
Until these dreams
Become my reality

You forget that you're good.
You forget that you're kind, and gentle and caring.
People have been so callous with you that you forget that you are not the sum of their mistakes,
and you are not to blame for the damage that was done to you.
You forget.
You forget that you are full of  good intent, that you're thoughtful and creative.
You're so used to being made to feel stupid and selfish that when someone brings out the beauty in you,
all you feel is guilt.
You have a heart of gold.
You would never do to people what they have done to you.
There is a light in you that remains bright even with the layers of charcoal that surround it.
Don't forget.
**Don't forget that you're good.