You’re a wolf -
A connotation.
You’re a breed
of imitation.

You’re a guise
among the sheep.
Snagging lambs
while they’re asleep.

Your smile sings
with consonance -
but your howls vibrate
with dissonance.

You’re a liar
with eyes of fire -
The termination
of my desire.

You sparked a change
in my perception.
You were the Alpha
of pure deception.

Lest you forget!
Each definition in itself carries a connotation—
You'll always be something more

Scratching scribbles across the page:
Meaningless if rearranged.

Meaningless scribbles scratched,
Until meaning we attach.

Scribbled meaning scratched in stone;
Whatever it means, culture will erode.

Deep brown color, messy as it’s eaten.
Like something that failed to crunch.
Brittle yet soft, rough and delicate.
It can be fudgy, chewy or cake-like, topped with walnuts or apricot glaze.
A heavy horse failing to hike the high mountain of crisp.
******* the outside, but not as taut as chocolate-chip cookies, or M&M;’s,
A fragile strength that breaks with subtle touch.
Smooth and moist inside, melted chocolate held together.

Created solely for a royal’s mouth to taste,
Slowly dissolving, sea foam ****** by the damp sand,
A guilty pleasure I cannot live without.
The brownie becoming a beautiful bouquet blossoming
In my chocolate tinted mouth.
It cures whatever ails you,
The flavor empowering any mist of dullness or bitterness.
Forgetting about everything, as he mixed the batter
Creating the perfect combination of smoothness, sweetness,
And the creamy after-taste.
Our favorite thing to bake together.

Friday evening we scurried to the kitchen, creating our own baking contest.
His hazel eyes, swirling with the batter poured in circles,
His lips, whistling to the beautiful sight of brownies, plumping as they bake.

Days later, we would come back to that kitchen,
With the scent of freshly baked brownies still lingering in the air.
We would look at each other’s deep brown eyes
Like the brownies we baked and enjoyed together.
His lips, a wallop of sweetness.

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.