Lately I have found,
that pretty love
makes for prolific poems.

I'm finding that
a tender feeling
makes for tenacious terms
******* in rhyme.

I found that
a shared heart
makes for shy shrines
made up of secretive words.

As the people around me find someone,
I can't help but notice
the pretty poems,
and the prolific love.

I know you feel it.
Something is happening
               changing
in you.
I can see it.

Your Dam of Desire
has broken,
the floodgates are open
               but you draw on a blank,
do your best to think fast
               before you tank.

You cannot use the Broom stick of Beauty
to sweep away the ugliness of passion.
               You cannot simply sit under the rug
and hide from me.
You know it cannot be.

But now you feel as though
you've been put on the bench,
and your heart feels wrenched,
and your feelings clench,
                 but you wait.

Just wait,
you'll see.

Oh, the frosted trees
the North Wind blows
like delicate skeletons
at home in the snow

Sway and shed
your frosty attire
down warm necks
like icy spires

There is fun to be had
in the frost bitten forest
dropping wint'ry surprises
all over the tourists

It is sad to think all fun
must come to an end
as the warm sun smiles
to melt malicious pretend

It seems to be
that the Lily is exactly what I want.
Its sweet whisperings were too much,
its songs a playful taunt.

It seems I've caved.
I dug out my *****
and dug up my Lily,
I made a quick trade.

Such innocent pedals,
the Lily once did possess,
now lie in shambles
by my urgent caress.

It seems I enjoy lillies,
though I never thought it.
We seem to just click,
and never think to quit.

What of the Rose?
The Rose weeps silently,
its last pedals blackening,
its life fading quietly.

I'm so afraid
of what you can do,
when even the slightest touch
seems like too much.

I'm full of fear
of the way you look at me.
Gaze full of intensity,
me crying for its brevity.

I'm terrified
of the things you say.
They send me spinning,
reeling, swimming, wishing.

You don't know it,
but you frighten me.

You, who could so easily
reduce me to a trembling mess
at your feet.

It just takes a touch
and you could ensnare, enslave
capture.
I would be hopeless to resist,
but my face would stay brave,
even through your sweet persist.

I snap and lunge
       big dog on a long leash
I show my teeth
        wolf warning
I claw and paw the ground
         leopard to pounce

I cannot be responsible for my actions
when you back me into a corner
with all of your aggressive reactions.

I think my rose is wilting.
The vase chipping,
the thorns softening.

And the Lily calls,
a song on the wind,
a melody in harmony
with pedals and a euphony
of sounds so sweet.

My rose struggles to lift it's weary head
above the edge of the vase,
to look at me,
but I'm looking away.

And the Lily sings
sweet whisperings meant for my ears,
coalesceing me to where it grows
as pedals dry my tears.

I promised I would leave it,
protect it's sweet innocence,
but what does it want?
Can I really deny something that calls
to my very soul, my heart?

Oh, what could we start?