I thought love would be tall, dark, and handsome
I thought he would wear glasses and read Sherlock Holmes
I thought he would be listening to alternative music
I thought he would wear blue Vans and play the acoustic guitar
I thought he would be driving a black sedan in the afternoon
I thought he would have the gentlest fingers

Instead, love is tall, dark, and rugged
Love wears glasses from the 90s and reads politics
Love listens to songs I had laughed at and to songs I keep close to my heart
Love owns no Vans but has plenty of worn-out faded jeans
Love rides a motorcycle and, more often than not, the public train
Love's fingers are stuffy, if that is even an accurate term

But love has a gentle heart
He speaks no sweet words but his songs are poetry
He is patient and unyielding and stubborn at times
He is funny and crude and full of life
He lives and writes his existence into my being

But love only comes to me with no intention to stay
Love passes me by without meaning to
Love gives me the chance to love, though perhaps he cannot see me as love
Love had looked me in the eyes years ago, but only now did he truly come to my life
Love came to me when I was ready to welcome him
Love arrived when my heart was full of life for him
And now, love leaves when my heart understands
Love departs with a piece of me that I have given him, willingly and wholeheartedly
Love, too, is finding his own way to let go of love
One fine day, you will find her and I will find you

the words
the left unsaid
has been finally spoken

i miss you
i miss you

and there’s nothing to do about it.

twelve strikes calls the river
to run on the peach silk beds
to pool on white cotton covers
one strike calls the gut-punching
the anger and the screaming
to burn the sins of the day before
two strikes calls the dark haze
slowly beckoned
by the tiring tirade against my soul
three cents to bet
that i might wake up the next day

My heart's poetic
Day/ Fires, bright in these eyes :
Love poem of you...

Her smile was the salt and the beauty of the sea
Her hair was the mist and the tears of the ocean
Her head was lost in the waves crashing through dreams
Her heart was made of butterfly wings and humming bird songs
And her pulse continuously weaved a cocoon of love around eternity
Her skin came from the softest clouds of heaven
And her blood was pulled from the concupiscent flames of hell
She was the story spoken by angels
And the hidden whisper in the devils eye
She pulled black feathers from the night sky
And sculpted them into the first birds of flight
She gave one bird the sun
  and one bird the moon
    and one bird the stars
Then set them free into the night she had made them from
She taught madness how to laugh
Then gave it a mountain and a hat
She once had a cat
But only kept it long enough to teach it to smile and vanish
And then never saw it again
She spoke only in the lost language of sleep
But never slept herself
She watched over the breath of life and was the mother of death
She belonged with the dreams of a dream
And was the dream of the waves crashing through her head