Your words seem empty,

taking up space on

such a crowded page.

Toss them aside,

gently, so they might

live to see another meaning.

Pull them from their

roller coaster swing set,

the moods that you flip flop.

And I’ll work to get past

these empty words,

empty thoughts of us together.

A pretty girls blush,
Is a young boy's badge,
To wear as a smile,
That's really a mask.

Playing at love,
The game without rules.
Plucking dates for daisies,
Inside, a fool.

Run round the playground,
Chase girls, make them cry.
All of your insults
A beating lie.

Kiss girls, lest they spoil,
As I wish I'd mine.
Instead I called her stupid
And watched our love die.

you wonder if your days were well spent
you now challenge your own decisions
you regret what seems in retrospect, too little

you have helped make the world grow kinder
you have taught tolerance, compassion and duty
you have shown that faith requires integrity

i learned from your teaching, and your example
i see your attentions in each of my intentions
i am steady because of your ever present love

ever we live between yesterday and tomorrow
ever do the generations send forth their dreams
ever will kith and kin, extend those gifts in turn

may your many past days bring you satisfaction
may your many future days bring you challenge

The last time you looked at me with love
was somewhere between September,
where summer was nearing its end and
autumn was saying hello.

The last time you said you loved me
was Thanksgiving weekend, when you reminded me
how your world only consisted of my presence and
"grateful" was an innocent understatement to define how you felt.

The last time you held my hand
you wrapped my fingers in every crevice of your grip
squeezing it tight as if
never wanting to let me go.

The last time you kissed me
was a passionate concoction
embroidered on the satin fabric
of lust and love.

You picked me up from behind,
spun me around my living room
and kissed me against my front door
as if there was going to be a next time.

But Christmas has presented itself like a shooting star:
visible but barely there, flashing by in a second only to steal all your wishes.
And it has come to my attention that it's been far too long
since you've even allowed my name to roll off your tongue.

The last time you talked to me* was at a mutual friend's party,
where my heart became nervous, an all too old sensation,
to even have the courage to talk to you
wondering if your voice would be warm even with the belligerent wind outside.  

The last time I felt your embrace
was the exact same day, given in an awkward stance,
ending with you walking out the door where
winter awaited to kiss your cheeks because I had no right to anymore.

And this time, you didn't look at me with love, or kiss me from behind.
This time, you used your hands to push me away,
and that's when it crossed my mind that
those three little words abruptly became Latin on your native English tongue.

Though those were the last times I had any signs of your presence still physically in my life,
they weren't the last times I dreamt of you, longed for your hand (or kiss or hug), or loved you.
But as a new dawn rounds the corner, I solemnly swear today -
today will be the last time I miss you.

                                                        ­        *Or at least I'll try to.

- g.d.

I haven't stayed up this late
since our restless early morning contests
to see who would fall victim to
heavy eyelids and tired thoughts.
I won of course, you most of the time,
but I won on the longest nights (or so I'd like to think)
though my satisfaction was rooted from
something entirely different.
To be honest, I could have cared less about the victor;
I was competitive but I liked when you won -
the shine in your voice and
the glimmer in your smile telling me
how I snored through the night (I didn't)
was much more rewarding.

I haven't stayed up this long
since our late night conversations
turned into early morning slurred sentences
of who could make the most sense
whilst repeating I love you
inaudibly through earphone speakers
and bundled blankets.
And as much as the tiredness
enveloped me in its embrace,
the thought of yours implied through
the telephone waves proved
to be worthwhile, nonetheless.
You were miles beyond my reach,
but you were simple words away.

I haven't stayed up this late
since we fell asleep falling in love
in different beds but with the same desires,
on the same line; on the same page.
And I hate to admit it,
but I still like to think of it that way.

- g.d.