i really need you
  here and now
    to touch the crook
      o f  m y  n e c k .

         you'll feel all
           the little hairs
             standing up.
               my body gives a
                 standing ovation
                   f o r  y o u r  t o u c h .

                      you feel like love
                        all over your body,
                          let me feel it
                            a l l  o v e r  m i n e .

                               melt your love
                                let it wash over me
                                  in the yellow room
                                    as i lie in your bed
                                      i  n e e d  y o u .

Grazing the edges of deep shadows
Pushing away the darkness unseen
Hoping any little light, to guide one
Through any coming Hell, between
Now and journey's arrival to then

©  2017 Jim Davis

He offered her the world
But she said she only desired his heart
He paused for a moment in complete silence
As he did not know where to start...

It never was that I loved a cigarette,
more than you.
Just that I knew every morning,
when I rolled over,
my smokes would still be on the nightstand.
But your keys would be gone.

Am I actually in love
Or am I just addicted

How can you write what you feel,
What you know,
When you don’t?
How can I keep the words from running dry
When I’m wasting time trying to squeeze them
From the inkwell of my mind?

I am not an artist,
I am a student.

And yet everything I’ve learned
Seems to fail me.
Rhymes, meter, imagery:
Why do I know these things
If I can’t use them myself?

I am not an artist,
I am an observer.

This problem is not rare
And yet as I write about not writing
I write.
My lack of a story
Is a story itself.
Thinking is the enemy
And in this head of mine
My foe flies at me relentlessly.
Sometimes a mind overflowing with thoughts
Can hurt more than an imagination run dry.
Yet the pain only fuels me.

I am not an artist,
But I could be.