Bzzz.
Clank.
Brrr.
Clink.

Mellow lights.
Fizzy lattes.
Distant chatters.
Bell chimes.

Her lips.
The slightest curvature.  
Insuppressable joy.
What is there to worry about?

Her eyes.
Make the sun look like a street light.
A gander like that of a panther when preying.
Does her desire match mines?

Coffee house madness.

Drowning in your eyes
Wild and blue like the ocean
Tossing about in their storm
Is the most poetic way
That I've ever died.

my eyes are exhausted from seeing things
i need not want to have a glimpse

from looking at people
i need never want to love at all

from catching melancholic eyes
i need in no way want to sympathize


my eyes are exhausted
from observing faces of reality

the crooked
unsubtle kind of hypocrisy


―a.t.

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems--not to suffer pain?

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

Sleep drifts heavy,
a fog, a mist, a shroud,
yet You cling to my mind

Like the last breathe of a cigarette,
or the sweet taste of chocolate,
you linger,
a welcome reminder
of the sweetness that graces my mouth

You're there on my lips,
and you linger,
like the hot burn of cinnamon candy,
or the cold bite of Winter's kiss.

In every sweet taste,
or sharp bite,
you linger