"You touched my fingertips.
I felt it. My heart skipped a beat.
Taking hold of my hand. It stopped.
The high school child in me embraced
the playtime once again.
Sitting on a park bench thinking of our bleachers
at the Friday night football games.
Now we cheer for the pigeons as they fight
for the bread crumbs.
It's all so beautiful, only different times.
We are here still together, that's all that really
matters.
Beautiful to reminisce, grateful that
we can.
To kiss each others lips, and start our hearts
pumping once again."

It's 2:00 am in the morning.
And I wish I could hug you tight,
instead of pillow.
I could feel your arms wrapped around me,
 instead of blanket.
I could listen to your heartbeat,
instead of rain.
And I wish it was you on my side,
instead of him.

It's 2:00 am in the morning,
and I'm wishing for nothing.

She's isn't strong until she needs to be.
She isn't tired until everyone else has gone to sleep.
      She's up first and the last one to sleep. Sometimes she doesn't even get to eat....
      She's the nurse the doctor the cook,and the house cleaner . Shes the chauffer and a referee too. She's the messenger,  a teacher, and at times a personal seamstress.In case you didn't know. She's the friend ,and the displinarian,  She does it all . She's the one we call when, we're  stranded at the mall, she's  the one we confide in when he didn't call. She's there when your girlfriend dumps you for your best friend. Shes there through thick and thin. Shes always there to lend her hand.. She worries , and she panics ,and  she can get really ******* to,,but she hides it very well, because she's also a sophisticated lady the whole way through. Did I mention she's also a magician! She's the only one who can heal an ouie with a simple and gentle kiss . She's the one and only person in this world ,to whom every calls their MOM....

i.
i spent my nights writing wishes into
paper cranes after we broke down, a repetition
of ink to paper - fold, press, release -

your name, your name, your name,
became habit every time i picked up the pen

ii.
when i dream of walking through
haunted houses, i hear voices through the
open windows, i swear it is you saying
come home, baby, come home. 

a draft cuts through each whisper and i pretend
it is your breath on my neck,
that your hands will follow, but when i turn
it is only the breeze from a crane beating its wings.

iii.
when it storms, the dock we used to
share secrets on floods - my fingers scratch
at my thighs like i am picking apart the wooden planks,
my skin splinters in all the places i have ever
been touched by you.  

i fold myself into a ship and sail where you can't
follow