You were my ice tea
On a lemonade day
Honey from a bumblebee
On the patio of your cafe

You were the green grass
We smoked at dawn
The freshly mowed grass
We stretched our limbs on

You were my summer drink
Those strawberry lips
A raspberry pink distinct
With those cool iced hips

Let’s sleep out
And eat in
Quietly shout
Get mad and grin

Hold tight
To loose morals
Wake up at night
Fall asleep and fight

Shiver in June
Warm in December
Believe a cartoon
Grasp a hot ember

Let’s bloom from above
Speak what we cannot say
Let’s fall in love
*And stay that way

I stood where the road forked in two,
Left or right, which do I choose?
Stealing a coin from a well,
I flipped, but as it fell,
I turned back; I'd much rather be with you.

She, only exists in the dusk hours.
Clings to the breath after April showers
The Angel sings with a halo and wings made of lust
The bust of his lover still hovers in his hand
Meetings unplanned but demanded by both.
An oath meant for growth and simply no more—
Purely to adore his virginal *****, who never gives
What he lives for; only a taste for the lonely.
His mind is reeling with the thoughts of thieves.
     She leaves, and he waits.
Plans dates with weights made of steel on his back
Soon to crack from the lack of a meal,
His stomach filled with a ravenous zeal.
Thrilled with the build of his lover now returned,
She is burned by the flames of a snake spurned.

a writer writes his writ upon his therapist
becomes a terrorist upon an innocent blank canvas
and breathes deep of deep water
searching aimlessly through the murky abyss
for word choice or some voice that sank it's teeth
into calm waters, sinking calm into the universe
beneath stormy oceans, and coral reefs
and then it is lost forever
or at least
for the quotient of our time strung together
so the writer has to make the world smaller
less corners to hide behind on an island
without defiling a perfect balance between dreams
and silence
the writer risks every random revelry being revealed
inside of a blank pages first time
to quiet the world in their minds
and find calm sealed away in a place you'd rather be
but the longer you stay reality fades to grey
and you only see what could be satisfactory
some day
a writer experiences love like a story, but euphoric in ways
unexplained except by a blank white page.
which becomes a mistrustful mistress
and you begin to miss your healthy distrust
instead of a co-trust between love and the pen and the paper
a writer can feel only through the pen
so if a writer writes on your skin
you'll know they want to see you again
and you to see them

Love faked his name,
and past but not personality.
Heart-splitting talks of sentimentality.
In the shallow depths of my heart's sea,
Your voice is merely a memory.

Entrapped in your thoughts so discretely sublime.

You told me,
*"Love is the only conqueror of time."

That double crescent moon bite mark
That Thom made on my arm
To show me he was, "*****."

Those five purple fingerprints
That Riley left, to remind me
My pants? Gone last night.

That weird, mysterious oval
On the inside of my thigh.
...Was that Kelsey or Nyssa?

That tiny yellow mark that splotched my eyebrow
From when I ran into a telephone pole
—completely sober.
Tyler still mocks me about that.

That blood red under-eye
That made me realize
We all get hit.

That Texas-shaped purple-to-yellow transition
That screamed to me,
We all heal.

She was riding me with violence
Then there came this suspect silence,
Our bodies’ short alliance
Had came to a swift end.

Dismounting like a trooper,
She left me in a stupor…
To write on her computer?
I lay there in a daze!

She looked at me with eye of,
The deepest green, they’re kind of,
(you may have caused this rhyme love)
Like a gangrenous dove.

“I’ might continue later…”
I struggled not to hate her,
But it’s not her job to cater
To my seductive gait, or my deviant- like needs.

So I hatched a plan that just might,
Render my plight more trite,
And make my mind-set alright,
To continue through this day.

So I grabbed my **** with vehemence,
and pumped with such experience
that the ceiling’s coat of cream just
might vindicate my mind.

As it was dripping off the ceiling…
I began to get this feeling,
My intent had been revealing
To this cheeky penguin's view

As I looked over to guage her
reaction, I'd ought to savour,
but I was faced with a much stranger
Situation than I’d expect.

She was sitting with a smile...
The umbrella cocked awhile.
She must have seen through my quite vile,
Intentions straight away

She tilted her head slightly,
and with a wink, said quite politely -
"I guess you're done now Riley?
My plan...it worked a treat"

That’s why I like this woman,
She keeps me guessing more than,
a stockmarket versed in Russian,
or a way to end this poem.