16.**
What a small weight for the most important gas,
that is keeping us alive.
I was 16 when I realized that my mom
had forever been my biggest supporter.
I was 16 and I was still holding my fingers crossed behind my back,
hoping that Santa was real.

I'm the hidden meaning behind good reasons
that have paved the way toward bad choices.
For I have realized, sitting silently in the corner,
that we are all forced to realize our
own self destruction.

Like the building and the wrecking ball,
of which I am often both.

I am your overspoken words and unsaid thoughts.

I am not the beautiful bare trees in the winter,
but instead I am your poisonous dinner.

I am the passion behind tears
and the emotion behind screams.

I am the thoughts that keep you up at night,
and your cold, bare feet.

I resemble a constant string of avoidance and indecisiveness.

I am your dewy eyes and groggy voice at 7:30 in the morning.

I am nothing but a blinking statue.

I am 16 years worth of unanswered questions.

Yet in 16 years will all I be is
another 16 years older?

I am the epitome of drowning without water,
and not to spoil the ending for you,
but I still have 16 years worth of faith,
that everything will be okay.

Power surges through my finger-tips

as I confidently grab his hips

urging him to go faster

I’ve overtaken as master

My inner goodess purrs

my confidence soars

at his muffled curse

as he comes he roars

But now I’m frustrated

my needs not sated

a moment ago elated

now oddly deflated

Oh, he’s down there

I’m writhing without care

ecstasy, delight

****** in full flight

I love the music of the morning
as rain drops
beat out their rhythms
on my bedroom window panes.

I have heard that beat before
under tin roofs
in faraway jungles,
where lonesome young warriors,
not understanding
the rhythms of the rain,
nor life,
cried to that beat
of that falling rain.

Now, that I am laying here
next to you,
I have no fears.
No anger.
No worries about bombs
or tomorrows.

I have learned to love
that rhythm of the rain.
I have learned to love you.
I have learned to love me.

So, I am satisfied
just sleeping here with you,
while listening to the falling rain
and the beating of your heart.

I have learned to love both.
as if somehow,
they were only one,
and not separate hearts.

I'm looking for some puppy love.
Some kitten, gerbil, guinea pig
love. Any kind of
unconditional love, really.

I'm looking for a place to rest.
Or to recharge, reboot, recoup
myself. A place to
regenerate my heart, really.

I'm looking for propinquity,
Or amity, ardency, affinity
for another. A form of
uncomplicated connection, really.

I'm looking for something else.
Something different, unusual,
extraordinary. Anything,
anyone but you, really.

the cricket sound of hot-love dusk,
the silently fluttering madness of moonlight,
it hides under her eyelids as she
presses her sweet lips to the night;

you tremble beneath the weight of her molten stare,
your teeth piercing the solemn reverence of her ashen heart --

oh, god, touch her
hands cold like ghosts
in your arms like a guitar, her
soul bleeds onto your naked chest
warm
breath
slow
breathe, oh Dawn, look,
your hot-love is fire;

two die
and one becomes