Every poem I write is of you.

I write of your chiseled jaw and cheeks.

I write of your collarbones, from whose depth I could drink wine.

I write of the bed of stars you laid me down upon.

I write of your golden skin under the soft white sunlight.

I write of your eyes which remind me of the moon.

I write of your spine which resembles the solar system.

I write of my love and of my man, whose entire soul resembles the composition of the universe.

And I can only hope I am a galaxy within it..

(i. r)

intoxication
can be a deathly excuse
to the girl with sad eyes.

getting high
can be the last straw
to the girl with long legs

also,
trading your secrets
with someone else
can ****
me.

He goes to office.
He reaches in time.
He does his work.
His boss doesn't
complain about him much.

He earns enough to pay
His bills,
His mother's  doctor.
His father doesn't
complain about him much.

He comes from office, late every night.
He cooks for himself, none else takes a bite.
He has delayed repairs to his obsolete bike.
He has complaints about his boss, father, mother.
No one truly cares about him much.

Oh Lord my God, I want to die
And you are the reason why
Die to self, die to sin
Die to the man that lives within

The man that's deep within my soul
Too often takes complete control
Have mercy on this sinful man
Chief of sinners that I am

But you oh Lord
Have sealed my fate
To live is Christ
To die is gain

So that is why I want to die
And Lord you are the reason why
Die to self, die to sin
Die to the man that lives within

the warm feeling in your throat
when you drink
is the best

gaze so strong
I nearly fainted
a kiss so powerful
I felt sedated
a spark so wicked
left me feeling electric

you are the stars
to my sky
I see heaven
in your eyes
every night

I see your smile
and I come alive

no fool
could take me
away from you

Buzz. Buzz. Do you hear it? Buzz.
It's right before, before the excitement, the pre-jubilation; pre-togetherness.

We were standing over there, the three of us, before everything occurred. Hugs were sprinkled like soft dew at morning.
And then they said it, the thing that made oceans collide, mountains crumble, and volcanoes erupt:
"You know their eyebrows are green in the light, right?"
Everything   stops. Eyes    widen. Mouths   gape   open.
Their eyebrows were IN FACT green in the light. They were like little lines of moss stapled to her forehead; like blades of grass stitched above their eyes. And that ****** expression: strangely malicious.
II. "Max, your sweater is an ocean. Look at it." Eyes are glued, almost magnetically, to their chest. I saw little boats floating around on the soft texture of your sweater, Max. They said something about doing the backstroke in the ocean that you wear.
I imagine hugging you, then drowning in your Sweater Ocean, Max.

We smiled at these tiny wonders that Little Ol' I had discovered. We were pretty happy with ourselves, and the show hadn't even started yet.

**~~a.s.f.