I can feel my slimy beet colored heart pulsing
beating at its height through my perfect left ******
My left your right as we are chest against chest
Nothing tastes as good as the leftover heartbreak on my lips
Or as bitter as the bad decisions left upon your own
No one can predict the bottomless mess of human emotions
But we are ever too fluid to care
More like fire than fluid
Mindless flames burn everyone equally without pity; ever-changing and depthless
Beautifully tragic, unpredictable at best and has a violent fluidity all it's own
The beat travels up my shoulder and down my spine unto the very center of my womanhood
I feel a craving for you and it is border-lining madness
I am teetering on a edge of hysteria that I thought I could ne'er again succumb to
I am being driven wild with an unasked-for passion
Alas - it all must remain internal for there are proper politics to be remembered
That of a taken man and secret so deadly that it entitles me to feel a certain power of having a precious life in my hands
I may be a forebearer of evilness - but at least I am the only one BEING HONEST

(Handwritten horribly)

Excuse The pen
I walked all this way,
And my pen is broke!

Beyond a soil so old that serves a tomb,
And streams that run so sweet to flourish blue,
Next a wilderness loving like the womb,
There grows a tree, old patron solid true.
He loves his children much with winding root,
The charming birds band, number on him much.
Old witness pays his dues and reaps of fruit,
But is he always good to love and touch?
He withers like all things so good, he must.
His branches spread, so high and dry they die,
Wind brisk through his leaves fly, and so they rust,
As all the forest, all the sadness cry.
He stands, but dead, as all his children strong
Await upon his wake to look so long.

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

I must not gaze at them although
Your eyes are dawning day;
I must not watch you as you go
Your sun-illumined way;

I hear but I must never heed
The fascinating note,
Which, fluting like a river reed,
Comes from your trembing throat;

I must not see upon your face
Love's softly glowing spark;
For there's the barrier of race,
You're fair and I am dark.

I wish I could show him that,
Between the cracks of my bones,
Flowers are sprouting,
Inside the garden of sadness I once had.

Seven months have passed since I last visited,
What was once a home of loneliness and anguish,
For the last, huddled was I, on a rusting bench,
Absentmindedly watching salty droplets cascade to the ground.

With cheeks red and face damp,
My attention finally turned to the weeds blossoming in my oasis,
And though its weeds were beautiful to gaze upon at the time,
I realized that a garden without roses is like an ocean without fish,
                    Or a galaxy without stars,
            Or a sky without clouds,
   Or a heart without love,

And for that reason I deserted the deserted,
To find you.

Regardless of my infrequent visits,
To the garden between the crevices of my bones,
Loyal friends have visited in my absence,
To pluck away the weeds I used to stare at so lovingly,
                        And shower the land with seeds,
                 The ocean with fish,
            The galaxy with stars,
    The sky with clouds,
And my heart with love.

Though the scene brings tears to my eyes,
To gaze upon all that has changed,
I wish I could show him that,
Between the cracks of my bones,
Flowers are sprouting,
Inside the garden of sadness I once had.

(H.G.)