I am not your first love.
You are not the first person I have looked at with a mouthful of possible forevers.
We have known more heartache than most, loosing hope in love stories
Because we have both known loss like the jagged edges of a dull knife.
We had given up on love.

Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came without forage or fight.
It came when we had given up on asking love to come.
But here we are your hand in mine laughing, under the setting sun.

I will write poems to the pieces of you that you can’t seem to find, like they got stolen or lost along the way to find a home. I will write novels to the scars above your waist. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way that it feels to have finally found you.  I will kiss you with forgiveness because you will never be forgot.
I will not be afraid of your scars and worn out pages, because even if it’s hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection I want you to know

That wether it is the days you burn
More brilliant than the sun,
Or the nights spent cradling a bottle of ***
To wash away thoughts of yesterday
You are the one who stole my heart, and that’s something I find so hard to give.
I will love you when you are a still day,
And I will love you when you are a hurricane.
Because no mater how bad the rain
There’s always sunshine after a storm.

I am not your first love.
You are not the first person I have looked at with a mouthful of possible forevers.
We have known more heartache than most, loosing hope for this final moment.
Because we have both known loss like the jagged edges of a dull knife.
We had giving up on love.

Then I saw you in the waiting line.

Fair skinned, blonde hair tucked behind your ears, and deep sea green eyes looked back at me.
Then you wrapped your arms around my waist just long enough making my soul ache to just be seen.
From that moment after I couldn’t get you out of my head.
Then just two days later I’m starring at your purest self lying naked in my bed.

Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came without forage or fight.
It came when we had given up on asking love to come.
But here we are your hand in mine laughing, under the setting sun.

I will write poems to the pieces of you that you can’t seem to find, like they got stolen or lost along the way to find a home. I will write novels to the scars above your waist. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way that it feels to have finally found you.  I will kiss you with forgiveness because you will never be forgot.
I will not be afraid of your scars and worn out pages, because even if it’s hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection I want you to know :

That wether it is the days you burn
More brilliant than the sun,
Or the nights spent cradling a bottle of ***
To wash away yesterday pain.
Please know that you are the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen.
And I will love you when you are a still day,
And I will love you when you are a hurricane.
Because no mater how bad the rain
There’s always sunshine after a storm.

My death with be liberating

And I do not say that in the sense
That I am searching for a cliff
To take a good jump off
No.

I am only trying to find an honest way
To tell you
That I am clueless to what happens next.

You see,
There is a fine line between
Dreaming
And mortality.

Live the full life of the mind,
Fascinated by new thoughts
Your soul longs to find.
Intoxicated by the strange,
Find comfort in the unfamiliar
Get lost purposely in places that
No one knows your name.

She smelled of old books and great stories
If you looked upon her you could see all the lives she lived through in all the pages she read
Like the ink left the paper and found a home within her skin
She was a walking novel with hidden stories living inside her head
When she spoke the world grew silent just to hear the untold words she held tightly within
As if her words were oxygen and without them no one could breathe
Her eyes the color of stormy skies
If you looked close enough the black in her eyes was an endless void, a doorway to the world she hid inside.

He speaks the language of flowers
Quietly toiling in his garden
Digging, raking and smoothing soil,
Gently coaxing nature to match his vision.
He knows the bees, spiders, beetles, worms and earwigs
Regarding them as friends.
He follows seasons, moon and stars
As others do people
Enthralled at the changes they bring.
He listens as the birds sing
Watching with joy as
Fledgling take wing.