Could you push me into the river
Make me soaking wet, and, sicker
Could you push my swing
But never let go, to make me forever cling

Could you push me into your limelight
Then remove hollow faces out of sight
Could you push my door
Let me see, at the end of this ocean is a shore

Could you push me out of my seat
Have me see a better view of the old creek
Could you push my words into this paper
Drive me down, to find out what is truly deeper

Let me lean on your star
Because I stopped pushing myself afar
Pull me in with gravity
Because I have no more vines of duty

                                
              
                                                       *-Push someone's swing before it gets rusted

You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia
Your pelvis postures pandering favor
The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me
So paranoid with your pacifistic lust
As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly
And I attempt to pursue oh so politely
You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak
You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve
You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics
Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy
I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum
I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum
A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead
You plan every move like a predator in my bed
You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll
Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan
Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing
Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis
Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy
Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague
Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds
Your pale skin is like playwear for sins
You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin
Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise

I heard your voice on the radio
Each word transmitting
from your lips
You touch me more than you even know
From my neck to your fingertips

To be under your skin
is where I should have been.
From the start I knew
a little bit of everything
except you.
And to know you
is to know everything.

I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
desperately
but you prefer my
reality.

Happiness can cause sadness; In the sense that when we have incredible moments that seem perfect, the feeling of ecstasy that pulses through your veins doesn't last. I live for those moments. The ones that carve a smile on your face and a story in your heart. The ones that take your breath away. The ones that, no matter how hard you try they can't be put into words. And I get sad when it's cold outside and my soul aches for the freedom of summer. I think back about all the times we had and how now they are memories that I try to relive. I wish I could be stuck in those moments forever; to be completely and utterly independent in a haze of pure happiness until the end of time.

i have visions of you sleeping well
in a dim-lit room, half-furnished house
these visions once told me you were alone, and cold
and this house... it wasn't a home

i had visions of you dreaming of me
longing for the few days, in which you return to me
sleeping on a mattress is never of ease
but not so bad when you have loving to look forward to

now here in my sleepless cavern those visions have changed
i still see you dreaming in sweet peace
but with another's arms wrapped around you
and this house is more furnished than i had thought

i no longer have visions of you coming home
with a smile on your face, and sweet treats in your hands
heart shaped budds and the sweetest finger hash
are no longer gifts, but regular occurrences

not since you told me, the way you think of me has changed
it's no longer good thoughts about our psychedelic whirlwind of a journey
but of the times we went awry

i'll never know what happened for those 3 days after we spent the night
i hope your phone died and wish that was the whole story
but these visions of you sleeping in a more-furnished house

make me think that house is now more of a home.