Alone I ponder of how life works,
Giving me exactly what I've wanted
Then taking it away just as quickly.
Now, miles away, I still think of that night;
Things made sense for a moment.
In the dark, music playing,
We didn't have to say much.
For we knew how we felt together:
Alive.
As our lips met i couldn't help but smile,
I felt it in my heart.
And I don't feel much anymore.

i sleep not in comfort
for my heart has become wary
from the existing weight
you have placed ever so gradually
and the once tolerable heaviness
beneath my breast
has become the lasting pain
reflected in every breath
in every beat of my struggling heart
betrayed by you
betrayed by me
in every word that you may speak

Broken shards of a broken heart-
Each piece composes a different line,
Then from the crevices bleeds out your poetry.
And then you ask me why it doesn't rhyme.

:)

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.

In the black coffee of night the moon pours cream
through the open window above our bed and lightens
the umber shadow stretching across the pale linen wall.
I want to paint you, your skin canvas smooth. Your breath
teases my touch as the hands and lips of new lovers do.
I dip my brushes into the liquid cups of your palms, load them
with color--madder rose,
vermillion,
scarlet,
carmine deep, cerulean,
turquoise,
lemon yellow,
burnt sienna,
ebony, titanium white--
to mix and match memories. I trace the whorls of your ears.
One brush fine enough to limn each lash, another of sturdy
bristle to scumble in the nooks of belly and ribs. I use flats
and ovals to define the arcs of your curves and wipe them clean
with rags torn from sheets where we strayed. Carefully, I frame you
in my arms and dry you with whispers.