Do you know how long it will get?

It will flutter in the breeze
and tickle the side of your face.

It will wrap itself
around your ankles,
and lift you high
using all of its strength.

It will bear the force of the winds,
soak up the sorrow of the rains,
and reflect the heat of the sun.

It will twist and slither
across the ground,
take us by the hand,
and pull us close together.

I wanted to touch you.
But I didn't know how.

Would you have let me?

In you, I saw a fire burning.
A warm
green glow,
more radiant and bright
than the tail lights of the car
that drove you away.

Come to me during
the late hours of the night.

Strip me down and lay
yourself on top of me.

Cover every inch of my body
with your misty droplets while
humming a tune that reminds me
of a time when this room seemed

             bigger.

The moaning
and the groaning
were quieter than the
swishing and the sloshing
of the bottle in the hand of the
beast that was making his way to bed.

We step outside and even though
you were only one option out of many,
I chose you.
You were perfect
for a seven minute fling.

Your milky white skin burns instantly
to my fiery touch.
At first, you play rough.
Your breath scalds my lungs
with the promise of a shorter life.
But as you ease into a pattern,
you begin to mellow me out.

Now we are halfway through
and your tan lips
are starting to soften
at the thought of this fling
coming to an end.
As the seconds whine forward,
you send me one last shock of ecstasy,
and then in a puff of smoke,
you leave forever,
with me wishing
that you would come back.

They say a seven minute fling
will take seven minutes
off your life.
I sit and ponder this
but still I hunger for more.
And although there are millions
of you out there just waiting
for their own chance at a seven minute fling,
the time you have given me
is as good as it ever will be.

Once a model of peace.
I would braid daisies
into her hair
while she hummed
sweet melodies
with the birds in a meadow clearing
deep in the forest.
Forgotten by most
protected by us.
We would light candles
under the midnight sky
with fire in her eyes
burning bright as the stars
so very far above us.

But the still burning embers
caught the trees on fire
in the late of summer.
Leaves raging ablaze with colors.
Yellow, red, and orange
until all the green was gone and
her chorus of birds flew south.
The fire trailed behind her
as she left the clearing
in search of her birds.

Onwards she marched
never to look back to the days of daisies
and humming with the birds.

Now the clearing is silent
covered with a sheet of snow and ice.
Step one, Step two
to the beat of Uncle Sam’s drum.

I met him
And we became friends.
I met her
And we became friends.
They met each other
And now I have none.