Constantly hot
Like a cigarette
Always lit

Burning up
Like the sun
Trying to stay cool
Like the midnight moon

Fierce and feisty
Sweet yet spicy
A little sarcastic
A little electric

When you touch
When you kiss
It's like magic

Used to think we'd be nothing more than innocent friends, now I gaze in your eyes when I wanna take a trip to the stars, and when I need a fix, I dial your digits and you give me it, the butterflies flutter and I wonder, how would life be if you weren't soothing me to sleep, or hugging me tightly until my sadness didn't seem to exist?

fanbases are competitive
their insults are repetitive
hatred never stops
compassion doesn't seem to exist
music doesn't seem to matter
as long as fans of artists
are battling each other
music is supposed
to bring peace
not start pathetic wars
what has become of us?
we're not music lovers
we are hatred followers

spread love, not hate
it's not too much to ask

I’ve worn
your Doors tee shirt.

It fitted you better
than it does me.

I remember you
wearing it
not long
before you died,
the Jim Morrison face
looking out at me
where your stomach
warmly used to be.

I wore it
in a kind
of remembrance;
a need to feel
where once
your body
snuggled up
against the cloth;
wanting to feel
the place
where you had touched,
to sense another feel
where you had been.

I didn’t want
to take it off.

It seemed another
warm embrace
of son and father,
like we did
just now and then,
less so,
for some reason,
as grown men.

I’ve worn
your Doors tee shirt.

It suited you better
than it does on me;
it hangs on me
where it hugged
you tight.

I’ll wear the tee shirt
with the Morrison features,
feel the cloth
which you once felt,
sense the touch
of you once more
in mind and heart;
believe some particle
of you may still
reside in cloth’s
worn hold,
that you
may ever be there
in every fold

She's in love with love.
She loves love’s weblike
Entanglements, its
Holds, its deep woven

Intricacies. She
Loves the waiting for
Him, the hour to come,
The time to tick fast

Away until his
Return, the sight of
Him once more, the scent,
The feel, the hold. She’s

In love with his hot
Embraces, kisses,
Touches, exchanges
Of juices, love filled

Words and gestures and
The unfolding of
Love and love’s fond tale.
She loves the place in

Bed where he may lay,
The pillow where his
Head shall be, the bed’s
Impressions where his

Body’s humanness
Laid the flesh and bones
And dreams and ***. She
Loves the unfolding

Unspokenness of
That hour, those still
Moments, that just them
Laying there, just them

Embracing, that just
Sensing him being,
Him breathing, him just
Being him, being

There waking, sleeping.
She loves by love’s deep
Hold, by love’s profound
Entanglements. She

Wants him there always,
Always in each time’s
Ticking of the clock,
The two hands of time’s

Turning, she wants his
Fingers to explore,
To delve, to stroke, to
Run across her lips

Before a kiss. She’s
in love with love of
Him. She remembers
The first lip to lip,

The first time making
Love, the first row, the
First return. She now
Recalls his last words,

His final gaze, the
Back of him leaving,
The turning of his
Head. She’s in love with

Him even after
Death, following his
Dyingness, despite
Him long being dead.

Automatic heat, attraction, I am smitten by the love, it's become an addiction, such a religion and a powerful drug. I adore you and I love you, it is what I cling to, I'm your baby, little lady, you're my lover and forever, all I ever asked for.

Silence has opened it's mouth,
I unfold before it,
Strands come undone,
The story of a man gets swallowed,
The strength of my youth falls with the wind,
A veil takes the stars from me

Turn the wheel into the sun. Forget the stars. Forget the wind. Forget the way the waves are weeping. I am not coming home.

We are never again what we once were. And I am not sorry for it.

Some of them end before the music can even start. And we are left somehow, like monks, pinching book spines like vertebrae. Seeing if we can find our ability to
Stand.
Up.
In words.

Most days.

I am only words.

But some days, I am more.

Some days, the thought of those ivory temples run me up masts..

I am stretched out. Arms wide. Accepting the storm. Ragged.
(Stronger for it. Unafraid to unravel more.)
Inventing time. Investing it back.
Some days. I am yards of cloth, fighting history.

And when my sea is calm:
Puff your cheeks and blow on my spine.
For motion.

I am still.

I am calm.

I am still calm.

I am still calmly waiting.

It's worth mentioning that we never made love.

Now. Everything is different.

I am listening to an ***** grinder, playing my heart on his sleeve. Taking light from my future and shedding it on my past. Saying, "What happened? Where did you go?"

And I try to answer back but find my throat dry and only able to mutter, "I can't feel you, Lord. I can't feel you."

Some days I am lost.

Is it fair, when asked what happened, to say, "She did. Calliope happened to me."?

Start the music. Let the carousel turn. I am not coming home.

Is it fair to say that I am better now. But not always better for it.

I am walking a tightrope of strength and..

Something else. Something else entirely.

Now, I am tired. I am at a loss for words. I am sinking into the oldest crimes in the oldest ways and creating my own wooden chest. You are on it. Carved. Etched. Playing in my mind like laughter on the really cold days. Your fingerprints matching the grain. A petal for each flower I picked trying to fix it.

And this is how it will end. It was this way before it even began. When we found our faults on the back of each others lips with our tongues.

Thank you for teaching me the opposite side of love.

And this is how I will end it.

I will be words. And action. And learn to touch with passion. Learn to make love, like sounds strung together. Masterful. Seamless. As to seem less important. like lyrics. Like an aria. Rising and falling like tides to my mast. Lips pressed and cheeks puffed. And arms outstretched like a horizon to sail into.

And all wonderful happy lies.

I will be more. In hopes of forgetting that briefly.. I once more allowed myself to be less.

And found my self wondering, If it was me who slipped through your fingers... or you who slipped through mine...

I once allowed myself to seem less.

I guess...

I just needed to get you off my chest.

Blackbird

Blackbird
Beautiful Blackbird,
Take heart, take flight,
Leaving all the hurt behind,
Upon the wing, you can sing,
Allowing troubles to unwind.

Blackbird
Precious Blackbird,
Be strong, be brave,
Be unafraid, just to fight,
Forever free, you shall see,
Blue skies, clear and bright.

Blackbird
Sweet Blackbird,
Know faith, know hope,
Sharing dreams, everyday,
Knowing inside, no need to hide,
Trust guiding you, all the way.

© Paul Chafer 2014