she fell in love that night
8:12 PM, March 4th 2017
with a latin woman
her curves illuminating
in the ultraviolet lights
of her bedroom

she tasted paradise,
fingers tracing the outline
of her *******
their bodies interlocked in the heat between them
whisperings of 'i love you'
was all each of them could promise that night of
March 4th 2017

What is a a soul really composed of?
This question is driving me mad,
I think about it, and it is disheartening,
The answer I lean towards is disappointing and sad.

Humans are made from flesh and bone,
Muscle, hair, 10 pints of blood,
Energy to efficiently move each part
A brain holding thoughts in a flood.

I am becoming very doubtful,
As I am writing these words down,
Is a soul what creates emotions,
Tells mouth to smile or frown?

We deny any possibility,
That ends with loss, sorrow, or pain,
I reach up for higher meaning,
Find no knowledge to gain.

Most people's beliefs rest upon a cloud,
Bathed in a golden glow,
I cannot put my faith in something,
No person for certain can know.

I worry souls are nothing else,
But feelings stemming from our brains,
If that is true, when our bodies leave this world,
And our last breath drawn, what remains?

You're something beautiful
Something I call mine
Our bodies intertwine
But it is cold without the love
There is more that we could have.
I guess it is over
For I know you hate me
It is okay.
I’ll hate you if you did what I did
It's okay, it is over

I woke up with an overwhelming sadness in my chest
and didn't understand why my heart felt things that my mind couldn't understand
Through night it grew somber
And shared it's sorrow with me  early this morning

I fear it might be unhappy living in such a constricting chest
I sympathize
With my troublesome heart
As I lay stuck in between heavy sheets
And wonder why it chooses to feel independently from my weak body that needs it so much

What could I have done for it?
It was always too big for me
Following tunnels that either ran way too deep underground or flew among the clouds that circled the mountain tops
What could I have done to make it any more happier?
All I have is my experience of what the ground feels like

He is older
And wiser
I am innocent
Not naive
His hands hold secretes and scars and hammers
Mine just holds his

starlight bathes
the valley between us
a web of memories
like splintered glass
spiral and soften
into innocent silk
releasing deep anchors
until skin disappears
like a shadow
under the moon