Mind racing at [fifty]
miles an hour while I start
to lose track of each hour
I've spent with the mistress
that placed my heart in
her garden of sunflowers.

Sunlight accelerating
photosynthesis while developing
a thesis as to why all these pieces
are perfectly falling into place.

Chasing love is what I'm known for
and she finally slowed down enough for me to catch her.

To think that there could be a day where each of
these poems she'd grow to hate, triggers minds to raceand doing everything I can to make sure that no one takes her place.

Hope I'm not being too possessive even though
I'm known to be obsessive and keeping everything else bottled up
so please excuse if every kiss leads to something aggressive.  

Every kiss bursts a leak,
surroundings become mute as  her moans
become the only language allowed to speak.

Stopping myself from revealing
details classified as intimate,
and I'm convinced this is love
it's just that I'm a little new to it.

I'm learning to record this story with ink and permanent print
so that when solitude moves back in
I can refer back to your memory and hold on to it.

Trying to end this poem perfectly
and I don't know about you,
but the closest thing to perfect
begins with the letter [two]