Quickly twisting the dial on my watch, that control the hours,
minutes, and seconds to help the days pass by.
My time is flying right before my very eyes;
but were does that leave the rest of society?
Who would be correct? Would majority rule? Or
would I be right on time, in the place we want to meet
if I were to spin the dial on my watch
and ask you to do the same.

Isn't it strange, how you explain to me
you don't want to be with me anymore
but after that moment, you are

kind again, sweet again, everything I
want and more... again. And how is it
that when our bodies meet, the rest of the world is
much smaller than you and I. And how could it be that we are years apart
but magnetic like no other, I can feel your pull.

How is it that you want to see me now, and I know you wont leave me
to bits all scattered across my room. And if I could explain
any of what I'm feeling right now to you I know you would be
silent

and act as if none of this matters at all
because we are "just friends now"
Friends that kiss, fight, love, scream, ****, cuddle...
but just friends.

Those words have humor in my mind. I can't even think about us being "just friends"
or maybe I can with time
but you are lying next to me half asleep
and I can't remember the last time I wrote poetry while a friend was
sleeping next to me. I can't remember the last time my fingers
were not keeping up with the thoughts in my mind, or the last
time you rolled over with the sunlight hitting your face
and you lifted your upper body, and brought your lips slowly together for a kiss.

I can't remember the last time you and I were able
to spend the weekend at my apartment
without having to leave, because of breaking glass and
nails scratching chalkboards and not your back in the heat
of the night.

And then I stop remembering everything of our past, because what I have
looking me in the eyes on this bright sunday morning
is is the warmest place I could find my heart.

Your hands
sliding down
my pink cheek
ticking my neck and
grabbing my hips.

I cannot help
but  to pull you
closer with each
candy coated
kiss.

Your voice is sweet
your words are absorbing
into my veins
like medicine.

My hips push against yours
wanting you closer
as I wrap you up
tight with my long
candy cane legs

You whisper in my ear
"If you knew what I wanted
to do with you"
We talk about being each others muse
but independent
enough to walk away.

And the beauty in this is that you haven't.

My fingers press against the keys,
as if they are as beautiful as the notes
you play at the bars during the night.

My mind whirls around all of these words,
stored in the book shelf called my thoughts.  
Trying to make connections to all of the mis-tied knots.

My eyes look disturbed with the visions of my past
that compel me to to tie, search, and press.
This is why I write. I only make connections.

She looks into the dismal reflection
of a man experiencing extreme torment,
sitting beside her.

The train stops; she passes him a note that says
"I'm sorry, I feel this creature crawling out of my heart and
into my brain, cutting the wires and re-arranging the connections."

Not a look in the eye, nor a tear to show
the agony of what was once ecstasy
of a blossoming flower in his mind.

Just moments later she walks to the back car,
greets a stranger with a kiss, and asks him
"Would you like to have dinner sometime?"