He ran his fingers on my neck,
and ran it down my arm to my waist;
he placed his hand on my hip and pulled me close;
his chin resting on the top of my head,
my body lost in his embrace.

I placed my hand upon his arm
and rubbed with my thumb,

'I could get used to this. I could get used to you.'

I turned my head and locked my eyes with his,
tried to speak, without words, of a kiss;
he looked away.

I haven't felt his arms around me since,
nor looked into his eyes;

that day I fell completely head over heels for him,
was the day he said goodbye.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

I want to live a life where I can wake up
every morning to the sun rising over the ocean,
and a place I can watch the sun set over a forest.

I want to have a German Shepard jumping at my feet
when I open the door and get back from work
work -nothing extraordinary, just something enjoyable.

I want to be able to kiss my significant other
and run my hands through his messy hair
and hear his sleepy voice tell me he loves me
just as much as I love him.

I want a simple life,
but simple seems to be the new complicated.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

Your eyes are beautiful landscapes,
though I see cracks that sprout through them like vines;
it seems as if you've planted roses in the spring,
and come winter you've had nothing but fallen petals to hold.

Your hands are shaking from the intensity to preserve
what is not there anymore, to hold what once filled your skies;
like rolling clouds of thunder; something sharp, something heavy,
disappearing as the sun begins to rise.

I've found myself standing at the archway of your garden,
my hands are calloused and my arms are weak;
I can't promise to be the rain and wash away the remains,
but if you would let me try,
I would love to plant puruvian lilies (they rarely wither)
and help again brighten the garden I call your eyes.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

Darkness teases and invades,
the sun runs away.
Stars stay the night,
but leave with morning light.
The sun not screams with jealousy
but hides behind the mountains;
the moon shines in the dark,
but even still can't hide his crescent
-half there, half empty- heart.

And though the moon spends his night with the stars,
by morning he's back to chasing the one he's always loved;
but he'll never admit that she's the one,
he'd rather hide behind the mountain until she comes up.

The sun and moon are more than friends.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

His eyes were like windows,
opened to the darkness of the night;
his arms a door once opened,
but I've locked the key inside.
I'm pounding on walls trying to get through,
but with a body like a brick wall, it's no use.

There's a fire burning but it's spilling out of the chimney,
and as the snow falls around me I can feel my heart freeze;
it's starting to stab and wound me.
I'm painting pictures on foggy windows
of memories not yet made,
but even so, they fade.

I'm knocking on the door,
I'm ringing the bell,
but this home seems to have become
a place I'm not welcome anymore.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

My eyes are nothing but foggy windows,
my body a door creaking beneath each strangers palm.
With honest hands, steady my shaking limbs before
emotions fall out of my eyes like autumn leaves.
Voice strong like an owl's call, but crisp air chokes,
leaving cries soft like a crickets song.

Tongue like a ballet dancer behind my lips,
searching for the right words to say.
Grab my waist and let's pirouette into words fallen.
Spin into worlds unknown,
Peter Pan promised I'd never grow old.

My eyes are foggy windows,
and you think you have,
but darling, you have seen nothing.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

There are very few things that are beautiful -and remain so.

The way the leaves change into beautiful neutrals at it's time of death,
the way the sun rises and sets with a beauty so awe-striking,
yet remains soundless and subtle.
The way birds continue to sing a sweet song,
though no one could understand them.
The way  the same eighty-six piano keys
can create a combination of different melodies
that can make someone either cry or laugh in joy.
The way the rain can wash away all the troubles of yesterday,
how despite setting, the sun will always rise again.

How someone so average,
can be the world to someone;
can age and break apart,
and still be the most beautiful creation
to someone who was once a stranger.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.