The poor boy
Had his heart
Taken away from him
His mother
Didn't approve
His lover
Wasn't his
She taunted him
His mother
Would beat him
"Brat!"
She called him
His not-his lover
Would cheat him
Of happiness
"****!"
She called him
Til he fell onto his knees
And wept
And said
"I can't take this anymore"

I haven’t quite
Decided
Wether these veins that web my heart
Are roots
Or fault lines,
But I’m starting to believe-
That maybe
They can exist
As both.

The jester walks the garden path,
Carrying the gullible in his boots,
The jester walks the garden path,
He makes them late as he commutes

He star jumps gleefully into the road,
The traffic comes he sees a chance,
He star jumps gleefully into the road,
For everyone to witness his deadly dance,

But they laugh and laugh and say he's them,
But he's not them for he is him,
He knows only a culture of owning,
A culture of convenience above knowing,
A world of gold and broken seams,
One where laughs distract from extremes,
He knows not empathy, or love or service,
Only a selfish desire to hold office

He knows not the energy he steals,
From those who pass it to him through laughs,
Those who have everything pulled from their heels,
While the jester stands and points at the giraffes.

As we’re lying down I breath in your scent, the scent of your cologne, your heavy musk.
It fills my lungs with each breath I take, like the way baked goods do when they come fresh out of the oven.
Together we feel each other’s skin.
I trace the outside lines of your soft yet firm muscle until I make my way up to your face; one that resembles mine.
One that has dark spots and whiteheads.
One that makes us so frustrated in our skin but we share that.
So I place my hand on this skin, the skin that resembles mine and caress it like it’s this perfect plum that I’m about to take a bite out of.
My eyes are locked with yours, as if we are looking right through them, right into our skulls.
Trying to read each other’s mind.
Ironically we are both thinking the same thing.
I pull in, you pull in, we pull in and take a deep juicy bite out of each other.
I feel your tongue and you feel mine as we taste the juices we give to each other.
Our hearts, they beat on a time that only loves sets.
A beat that feels so great, so great our hearts connect.
Our lips disconnect and we’re back to laying down.
Trying to catch our breath, we breathe in and breathe out, breathe in and breathe out.
Until the point where I’m breathing what you let out and I’m breathing recycled air.
That same air, the air of your musk or cologne, the air that feels like baked goods, when they come fresh out of the oven.
Our eyes connect back to each other, looking right into our skulls.
But this time we know what we’re thinking.

And we’re thinking “I love you”.

Amanda M Brown copyright ©️ 2019

I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission;
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.

I am a ball, I am a cell,
I am the will of higher selves;
I’m a layer of the kernel,
Flying on seat "57L";
I’m a letter that was sent to mail,
Set outbound when rings the bell.

I am a curve, I am twirl,
I am sustained motion still unfurled;
I’m necessity in the system;
Of absorption I am the emblem;
I’m a branch of fractal downward;
Of struggles past I ain't no award.

I am a beast, I am a fork,
I am a breach through inert soil;
I’m a head of the hydra snake;
Consolation in all of mistakes;
I’m the blood of the wounded,
The brain of memories faded.

I am a blink, I am a cause,
I am the storm after the pause;
I’m the pity for the angered;
Whose duties have been tempered.
I'm the eye that's about to drool
And the tooth that's bound to fool.

I am silver when I am gold,
Yes I am pale when I grow bold,
Like an etching on a clean surface
I'll be sanded just to be varnished;
I'm the most certain of prediction,
Foreseeable beyond provision.

I am ludicrous, I am lukewarm,
I am commitment amidst cold wars;
I’m the frontier around the form
And the earth that drowns the worm;
Of victory I am some defeat,
Accomplishment left incomplete.

I am a meter, I am a yard,
I am pain that causes no harm;
I'm the scepter of the peasant,
The suffering in the pleasant;
I'm everything that's ever been said,
All that's forgotten once it's been read.

I am a sin, yes I am sought,
I am a child yet to be mourned;
I’m resistance to the inevitable,
Recurrence of the unstable;
I’m the distance of departures,
The first minutes of final hours.

I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission,
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.

There's a hurdler in the distance,
Approaching from afar,
Nothing struck him in this instance,
Though the setting was bizarre

He somersaults each in a flurry,
As the clouds threaten to rain,
The flowers flutter with worry,
As they sight the old warplane

He runs straight out the exit,
Takes a right onto an avenue,
Where streetlights line the docks,
And pebbles question you

Waves crackle over the pier,
As he flies across the decking,
He throws his hands up and volunteers,
To the cold hiss of forgetting

Some time later he awakes,
On a beach of pebbles and shells,
Hasty escape perhaps a mistake,
A fall from carousels

A tower commands the sea around,
Windowless, aged concrete,
He laughs and spins at what he's found,
Alive but incomplete

The golden sunlight shone
Bright over the hill
As the wind fills the
Air with flower petals.
A single drop of dew
Falls onto a dandelion
Growing in a field
And settles.
I gaze deeply
Into your eyes then we kiss
Slowly, our hearts
Beating fast.
I take your hand
Walking onward in the
Grassy field as we go on
Forever, and we never look back.