The air is frigid
But our bodies are warm
We walk in long black coats
Teeth chattering
Arms locked, fingers intertwined
Talking of the beautiful leaves

Your ears are cold
My nose is pink
We walk together
Enjoying the company
We share our thoughts
And laugh together
Our breath is smoke
Warm air against
the chill

I'm thinking now
About our walking
In the long black coats we wear
When the reality of it is
I sit alone now
Merely daydreaming
Of the lovely tomorrow to come.
And the great warmth of
*your smile

How nice to be a balloon
floating on a young ones wrist
How I'd like to be a balloon.  

They float for some time, and then happily deflate
leaving there rubbery reminisce
For the young one to toy with
And stretch to it's limit
Or they might keep the balloon close
like some long lost friend

Unless, you're the sad balloon
who's string is dropped
and floats way up high
away from the happiness
away from the child
well
away from the tears of the young ones loss
who wishes only for the balloon
who's already lost.

Embarrassment.  
We all know what it is.
It's the son of Mr. Miscommunication
and the lovely Ms. Stupidity
Embarrassment isn't a kind thing
It crawls into your stomach and pokes at you
only to remind you
of your misfortune mis-step.
With all of Embarrasment's toying
you become uncomfortable
you sweat
you fidget
but it's still there
that, hopeless feeling of stupidity that
eats at you.  

Embarrasment's quite flexible,
he likes to move around
the more you think, the farther he goes
from your stomach's trouble to your chest
where he hurts your heart
and lodges your lungs

At this point,
we all know what happens
but

I'm far too embarrassed to explain it.

Love's a funny thing
That makes your thoughts go fuzzy
Mine were short to begin with
And with you,
It's like I'm surrounded by
Lovely things
Things that used to seem bland
And useless
They become reanimated
With little traces of you
Everywhere I go,
I think.  

You are my rock
Not to sound cheesy
You keep me going
I crave your company
Each simple thing I do
Will never be enough
Nothing will amount
To your perfection
And every single day
I try.

I'm no good a poems
I like to draw
But every sketch of you
Doesn't come close
To those eyes
Those lips
That neck
Your smile
But all the while
I draw.

I sit alone feeling lost
With no arms around me
No one to whisper in my ear
But I think of you
You're always in my thoughts
No matter where you go
I remember.

I'm sorry my poem to you isn't so grand
Nothing about me is
So it makes me wonder why
Someone so perfect as you
Would settle for the
Normal
That is me

I may never know.
  
But I do know
That
I love you.

You spend your quarter
In the great big jukebox.  
It carries many songs
Each with a different story to tell
Some of love
Betrayal
Some to laugh
Some to dance
And some to ponder
And in your hands
You have but one quarter
When the jukebox needs:
Two

You're late again
Each heavy step
Proves it even so.
You check the clock
It's half past four
A quarter after your corner store
job that you are about to lose
but here you are, "where's my shoe?"
You fumble with your knotted laces
They mock you
They tell you
"we'll take you places"
You tie them off
Those stupid strings
Whoops, you they tripped you
Grab your things

You're out the door
And on the street
You see a man
He's at your feet
Begging for a morsel to eat
You check the clock
It's almost five
You think you could stop a moment
To keep this man alive?

You check your purse
You've got a ten
Looks like you'll be missing lunch again
You hand it over
Still in a rush
You're thinking about
Missing your bus

You're already on your way
When behind you, you hear
"Thank you maim"
This makes you stop
You always rush
To work
To school
You've missed the bus

You turn back to him
His eyes are bright
Despite his woes
He feels alright
You're in warm clothes
And he's is in rags
You kneel to him
You drop your bags

"You're welcome" you say
A simple thing
You get back up
Now you're smiling
Maybe you won't make it to work
But you're okay
There's always happiness, you just have to know
Where to look.

I wanted to write a love poem
But I realized
You're too perfect for words.

The woman on the bench sits alone every day
staring off at some unseen thing
Or maybe she's gazing at the clouds to find
that happy place inside her mind
I asked the woman, why this bench every day?
The birds all fluster around
She looked down to me, only to say
"I've found him. He's mine today."

There's a woman on my ceiling
I know she's there
But every time I go to look
She's gone.