He cocked his head, looked down at me curled up in his arms, vulnerable, I'd imagine he'd see me as, and parted his lips to let out a string of words tied to a sigh.

"What is your favorite memory?"  He spoke, the words dripping off his tongue and slipping down my face, creeping into my mouth, coating the insides of my lungs I no longer breathed from.

I wanted to say this one; The one where I bled to death in his arms, and I finally felt the sting of his tears he no longer had to hide.

My thoughts are weary travelers
Waiting for the safe haven
Of the blank pages
Where ink rejuvenates them to life
As memoirs for other travelers

Nothing to say? Nothing to say?
Oh catch yourself on.
Since when have you
Ever had nothing to say?

Liar liar
Or so they say.
But if your words be lies
Then why do you hide it?

Loner loner
That's what I am.
You say it's untrue
Well then why didn't you notice me gone?

what letters we write
so easily
mr meaning
my feeling
my trust

words friendly
mean
obtuse morose obscure
confound

they echo smells
touch
promote sell the
next big thing
paint scenes.

Words obstinate
obscene
immature still
describe something.

The world revolves
in languages but words
are universally
renowned.

They call all of us
near, if on the tongue
of Shakespeare
raise hairs
on necks

from here to everywhere
if writers write
the quatrains quite
quiet, secure
hear
all that
a
word
is.

Silently lie in the grass,
On the hill above the lights.
Steal a kiss,
In between ,
Each drag on this cigarette.
And
Let's
Take bets on which is more
Dangerous.