What is it about you?
That just kept me hooked
Angel,you're on my mind
These feelings-they can't be shook

Why is your face in my head?
Baby,it drives me crazy
Because lately I can't sleep
And I think about you daily

What is it about your touch?
It's imprinted on my soul
That no night goes by
My love,I miss your hold

What the **** is it about you?
That after all this
You're still on my mind
And I miss you all the time

Craving,

the feel,

of fingertips,

or a beautiful set,

of lips,

along my hips,

inner thighs.

Wishing you,

would drive me,

wild.

Clutching,

fist fulls of sheets,

while you,

tease me.

Delicate line,

between love,

and hate.

Your tongue,

sends the lonliness,

away.

Across the room I followed his eyes;
a look that whispered a need to be
at my side; sideburns and mustache
beckoned to tease me, already
tingling with throbbed hunger; a physique
that rippled with each finger I wanted to press
into sculptured muscles as his mind licked
me with slow dips into my soft muscular lanky frame.

I knew we were meant for one another, especially,
when those same eyes seem to say I want to marry
you as soon as we get to know each other; which made
me slowly want to whimper into his open mouth; inviting me
to taste his emanating ambrosia, his intoxicating scent;
making me swoon into his arms; wrapping me within
his alluring warmth all I could utter is hmmm...

Week after week just touching and tasting drove
me out of my mind; wanting him to have all of me,
the way he walked and talked left me trembling
inwardly, but, I held my lusting mind, wanting
us to both be introduced physically and mentally
with the same need and want of one another; I
myself knew I wanted to spend the rest of my
life with this handsome specimen, the most
alluring thing about him was his intellect.

His conversation even had me drooling, I was
falling...no I won't say falling in love; I fell in
love from the look in his eyes way across the
room, eyes he only had for me; at that time
and moment put me in a trance.

We wined and dined, movies, shopped and
even enjoyed the atmosphere of an arcade;
I even allowed him to beat me in bowling,
he was/is just an exquisite man.

Another month or more goes by no physicality,
just loving mentally with a little petting now
and again, but, we both agreed to discover
our likes and dislikes; I was so, enamored it
didn't matter how long we waited as long as
I was in his presence, touched.

Then one night; after heavily tasting one another
we couldn't contain ourselves not one more
minute and he slipped a ring of friendship upon
my finger; a lip quiver and a tear rolled down
my cheeks as he explained he still wanted it to
be a transition of getting to know everything
of each other; tears blinding me, all I could do
was smile and shake my head in agreement.

Our love bloomed for two years before we
actually got engaged and then married a year
after a long courtship of bliss and wanton
hunger grew into an enraptured lust that is
still strong until this day...My Lover & I.

The bed is just another happy pill
to bitterly swallow every midnight
when your lungs are still encapsulated
along the taste of the caffeine infested air.

(beds float)

I always do this trick, that
when my eyes hang loose from waiting
for another sunrise and blooming of a wilted flower,
I would turn to my side and wilt myself
while shutting everything pitch black—

(yes, exactly like how that flower is wilted before
blooming on a six a.m. sunrise.)

It became my favorite game—
when I would turn myself into a                            baby—
fingers intertwined into a prayer—
feet bended—afraid
that the lava will kiss my calloused feet;

and my mind would wonder
trying to align the stars to make a path;
trying to wonder off to the galaxy
in the next house, in the next street, in the next corner—
trying to kiss innocence “come back”

(I know the spectrum blooms
better when our eyes are shut.)

but things are on a constant revolution
for change—permanence is a temporary
vase, shattered by accidental running
and childhood giggling.                        change…

childhood tricks and lullabies
won’t visit my prisoner mind anymore

like sepia pillows softly
kissing my checks trying to write
a poem I knew where smudged
along the coffee stains.

I’m on my way to my Fatherhood
dreams (beds float)
and my head is as soft as nostalgia
pillow in the corner of the bed.

What's to become of us
when all that we've coveted
is emptied of all value

What's to become of us
when the words we traded
seem to have lost their meaning

What's to become of us
when common ideals
turn to conflict

What's to become of us
when all that has been invested
gets swallowed by doubt and mistrust

What's to become of us
when we stand so close
yet between our hearts lies a lie