I am he
   who blistered and
   purpled his aching
   fingers, upon playing
   the saddest, dissonant
   melodies out of
   his old, untuned
   guitar, whose strings
   of somber used-to-be's
   he ceaselessly strummed
   and plucked under
   the dullest starless
   night sky; and
   sing of his
   weeping heart the
   poetry of melancholy
   notes half-composed.

It is me--
   the lone guitarist
   on broken avenue
   who never stopped
   playing his love
   song of rue
   since you left--
   whose only lyrics
   is your name
   and your words
   he dearly kept.

So early this
Sunday morning.
Birds are singing.
Big church bells
I hear ringing.
My bed feels so cozy.
Pull my blanket over
my shoulder.
Turn around before
I get colder.
Love this slowy waking up.
Drink my coffee while
it's nice and hot.
The sun is shining through
my window.
Shines and give my skin
such a warm glow.
Time will pass along the way.
Wishing you all a sunny Sunday.

don't fall in love

with the moment

standing close
until our heartbeats
collide
beating frantically
combining the two
into one
clutching desperately
reaching for anything
that could possibly
bring us closer
a passionate kiss
that grips from within
a soft stroke
becoming stronger
until the intensity
is overwhelming
heat rises
causing
desperate breaths
quietly begging for
                                  more
   giving
    taking
     getting
      receiving
until we collapse
into a heap
of  satisfied
love.

what happened?
what happened this badly
that you left me for her?
was i just another flower in a garden?
did my petals fall out
    that you had to pick
another?

maybe when i sprout again,
you'll pick me again

Each day she posed naked
As he continued to paint
Engrossed in the picture
She was twenty to his fifty
But his age never upset her
In truth, she was falling for him

He never attempted to ****** her
As if he ignored her body
Maybe she was not beautiful enough
She knew he lived all alone
He never shared his home
If he asked, she would be his

She tried to show temptation
Wanting him to notice her
No matter how much she showed
The curves of her body
He would just keep painting
As if he never noticed her there

On the last day she could take no more
"Am I not beautiful in your eyes
Can you tell I desire you
I would do anything you ask
If it be only for one night
I am yours if you want me"

"You are young and beautiful
Your beauty will be seen forever
In this painting, In your honour
But I loved so very long ago
I lost her to Mistress Death
My heart belongs to her, always"

I had 516 days of everything I wanted
How often do people get that lucky?