Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.

My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.

I fall in love quite
frequently, in glances with
those I’ll never know.

To exchange awkward
advances while predicting
this too will plateau

He showed up with flowers I didn't deserve.
My hair uncontrollable and my dress to short.
He said my name but it held no meaning in his mouth,
spit out without savouring.
I didn't know what to say when he expressed my beauty.

To much wine can make me bold.
Mouth has no filter,
cheeks flushed pink and my smile to free.
My laughter bursting brightly.
I began to notice his smile,
the silkiness of his voice.

He took my hand in his and there was no spark,
no strangled butterflies.
I fumbled awkwardly and he stared to hard.
Eyes unreadable and yet I already knew.

He asked to come in and it hit me,
that I was tired of dreaming of you at my window,
I'm always sitting on the edge of sorrow.

He kissed me so deeply that it's amazing he didn't steal my breath.

******* me with eager hands,
his lips lost on skin.
Eyes closed tightly,
I embrace the moment of letting someone in.
To rough and undeserving,
no emotion,
just need.

I lay, The curves of my body fitting perfectly within yours. No space,
Just a loving embrace,
back pressed to your chest.

I always crave to belong to you.

My body remembering traces of moments, Moments I'd pause and find sanctuary in.

If it is but a small frame of time that I can tuck away in my pocket, Keep it close to me always.

My eyes are clouded for my reality is like yours, Only one perspective. I breathe you in, Like I've done so many times before.

It's not the rain
that makes my eyes wet.
It hasn't rained in forty days.
Nights are long and quiet.
The silence cuts to bone.

It wasn't rain that quenched the fire.
It hasn't rained in forty nights.
The well is dry... so am I.
Nights I sit in silence
while it rains.

r ~ 4/19/14