Puckered lips.
'How should I move' and 'where should she meet me'
Forth on. And I don't. And she won't.
Unconventional.
We're ******, love. Smitten.
Frost-struck fools.
Your hand didn't find mine when I lost my footing,
And you won't understand why people don't come here,
The place where none should stand
to fall.

No response. Unkept, godless silence; pray, pray, I am prey.

That was it, wasn't it?
An exclamation point to a run-off
sentence; we refused.
She'll pray to the gods
We'll later become
And I'll never sip on something pristine as
Lavender tea lemonade.

She said the stars converse as we do.
Shining. Laughing. Slowly dying.
I'll go to your back, then your head to my chest.
Hearing you: softening
Jabs to whispers.
There, a heavy light settled along the edge
Of our spot, our unencumbered field of obsidian
And crafted blades of grass.

Of all the things I can be,
I can't be the last to go.

I saw a white purple dress
It reminds me of you with your blue feeling
I cannot say hello to you, here, right now
It's not me who are not capable of doing it
But something left in my chest, inadequate love


I saw a cloud with a strange shape of heart
It reminds me of you with your careless beauty
The beauty which traps me into this hole of affection
Affected by you, by your smiling of model magazine
Say it to me, like a new clearer eyes
Say it to me, like one of rarest decision you made of your heart
Say it to me, like people who know everything but nothing
Say it to me, like.. someone, someone who really made my heart
Fluttered, and flustered

i'm awake.
i shouldn't be, but here i am,
floating in condensed night, wondering
where my body went,
and why i'm awake at all,
when i hear it again -- the herald of my awakening:
a voice softly whispering my name
my entire name
me
without a choice, i am pulled into the speaker's presence
and i swallow
because, if it was anyone, it would be him, wouldn't it?
he's clutching his pillow and he shudders and if i were able to speak,
i'd joke that he should really learn to be quieter when he does this
i'd tease him about the clamminess of his skin
i'd say his full name slowly, roll it around my mouth, part my lips and say it huskily
like i wanted nothing else but him
                                                  (it's not hard to act out the truth)
these are the things i would do if i could speak; as a silent spectator,
i'm forced into sobriety,
into knowing he's not jackin' off at all
he's crying
desperate, disgusting sobs
every shudder spikes through me and i have to leave
i'd rather stay asleep for a millennium then to be the object of his
broken affection

I couldn't make up my mind on who she was. Really,
A premonition? Foreboding an inevitable storm
Or the storm's aftermath;
All dull and vivid juxtaposed in parallel reflection
Yet even though debris seemed to follow the destruction around her,
The centre of all the chaos was calm, grey
I called her Grey
She liked it
She thought it resembled a fading, translucent characteristic within her that most people seemed to miss without confirming a second look
"It’s like you lifted my eye-lids with clamps-long and hard enough to gaze and wonder just who I was"
That the easy facade on her outside was just a complex elaborate hoax and her intricacies were much simpler inside
But even with all my sensors of human emotion detection and learning to wade and blend through
derelict sage-nuances
I still couldn't figure her out
For I wasn't sure what she was:
A premonition or an aftermath of new color.

She was always Grey

Poetry is beauty because of its ambiguity
It's not black or white
Or even gray
It's indigo skies
Golden rays of warm light.
It's bitter morning frost on the hood of your car,
Sweet squishy sand in St. Tropez.
It's the thud of a heartbeat,
The silence of a blink.
It's the emptiness of the mind
And the ingenuity that fills it.
Poetry is nothing...
But boy is it everything.

would you cry in vindiction
should i repossess your drugs
all i ever really wanted
was your kisses and your hugs