Her                                                lips
Curl up at the sky
And I wonder, for a moment,
If that's where she came from
She throws her                             head
Back
And laughs to the heavens
And I wonder, for a second,
If that's where she came from
Her                                               fingers
Interlace with mine
And I know
Where she came from
But I hope
That she stays
Here, on earth,
With me

Why is it
that my misery
is always so beautiful?
Why is it
that my pain
is so exotic?
Why is it
that  my heartbreak
is so amazing to you?

I have learnt the pain
of too much tenderness,
of ingratitude, of impatience.
The pain that comes when you can't identify
the material of the casket,
you kept a gifted heart in.
I though it was love,
that preserved your misshapen, scarred *****.
But was it sympathy, inlaid with gratitude,
For three words uttered (though falsely)?
But I returned yours unharmed, when you requested it.
No gashes from harsh words
only salve, from caring hands- though the wound's wouldn't heal.

I don't know what you kept my heart in.
A bag of lust, tied with pride?
Cheaply made, so when it tore,
you sent my heart back, raw, unprotected.
At least I left you with sympathy.

A thousand words, never to be written,
too many moments to translate.
An unnecessary task, but a preferred one.
It should be easy, I am a wordsmith, as you said,
but my fire is merely embers,
my hammer, lost,
The billows need patching.
Discouraged, I sit by my dying fire,
a pile of horseshoe memories by my side.  
Broken plough hopes,
iron backed words.
All once glowing red,
now solidified in time,
by the cooling tears in a barrel.

I smell of you
the musky scent of your cologne rubbed into my hair,
my skin
still warm and sensitive to any form of touch
the baby hairs on the back of my neck
crave
your soft, warm breath.
I lean into you
my smile collides with yours
our lips press
our tongues
search
for the love we so badly desire.