I can't unlove because I am
Impatient, selfish.
I love as if I cannot be hurt.
Going on as if nothing is wrong.
I cannot unlove because I know not how.
I spend my nights awake dreaming of how everything should have been.
The speeches I have amongst myself
Lost in complete darkness.
Accepting the sound of my voice as an I told you so.
Seeking a dream that seems so far away.
I can't unlove because I accept disappointment.
The contempt of putting others first without fear.
I truly believe I cannot unlove because I am in love.
Young again in thought running wild, free.
I consider it a perk.
Being the only other person I know how to be.
No longer embarrassed of facing the opposite end of the mirror.
Finding that the most important things bring the most smiles.
I am far from perfect
But I cannot unlove as if I made some sort of mistake.
Purposely mistaking myself as a fool

I watch you.
Wondering back and forth, gathering twigs and berries. Bringing to life a place only you allow your thoughts to wonder.
Although serious. I admire you alot.
I know if I was in your position I wouldn't walk through these woods alone.
I've seen alot of things though. Alot of the world's ill's that wisp through the echo of the trees,
I even watch the quirky things that you do without realizing.
The quirky cute things that you often pay no attention to when you do them then say "what" like nothings ever happened.
Like stopping to smell the daisies instead of the roses.
Splashing in a puddle of leaves then watch then scatter one by one.
Laying there without a care in a world.
All appearances are not what they seem.
As the world itself is a crazy place.
Sometimes you need that. To step outside of yourself and just play every once in a while.
The journey to grandma's house isn't a long one.
But the next time you stop and whisper your secrets to the birds and the wind flutters your coat.
I'd like very much to feel your hand rub through my fur.
And protect you on your way to grandma's house.
Maybe let you ride on my back

Theres no better place I'd rather be than here, now
I know at times I'm hard to read and can come off nonchalant.
At times like this I'd lay my head on your shoulder and drift off
into the topic of any and everything.
Acknowledging the hello that leads to perhaps my favorite getaway.
The acquaintance of head to shoulder.
A declaration of perfect vacation.
A daiquiri of various flavor, nothing hidden from view.
Close but far away from distraction.
The embrace, resonating in the shutter of your voice.
A silver spoon to a bowl of thought.
A reflection mirrored in an half eaten spoon of sherbet.
Holding spoonfuls of you in my eyes.
Wondering about in each layered flavor, no longer restricted. rippling in wave after wave of melting mountain.
Orange and green.
Belonging to one another in a way never thought possible.
Unfolding deep in a valley found between ears
You and I, becoming like clouds in the horizon.
You and I
Laid on a silver spoon
Dipped in a bowl of thought.
Half eaten
Side by side without a single thing to do

This muscle which I speak
Often spoke but never emphasized
This muscle than often throbs
aches often
Impatiently selfish
Only thinking of itself
This steady throb
Aches on and on
Afraid to sleep in fear of missing the next moment
Realizing that reality is much better than the next
This muscle which I speak
Often spoke but never emphasized
A quiet calm that screams loudly
Unheard because of fear
Being seen as vivid
This bright color that laughs in color
Not afraid to be itself
This muscle which I speak.
Continuously patient
Waiting to be seen
Waiting to be heard
Waiting to be felt
This muscle which I speak
The presence of fascination
Otherwise near
Fast paced
Beating
This urgent vulnerability
Being needed
Being felt
From where does this muscle begin to beat it's fastest
The answer is quite simple
This muscle which I speak
Often spoke but never emphasized
Beats it's fastest around you

And like that
I was strung out on every word she spoke
Overwhelmed by such sensation I didn't want to interrupt
I mean everyone has one greeting or another
But this
This was *** being passed from lip to lip
The tightening of eyebrows engaged in thought provoking euphoria
The tingling of ears
Rather difficult keeping the mind off anything other than.
But contrary to expression
I sat dumbfounded
The biggest knot on the log
Filling gaps of silence.
I practically grabbed the light from the ceiling and shone it on her
Inviting myself into every phrase every fragment that came out of her mouth
Anything to keep her talking.
The things that would come out of this woman's mouth
At that moment
I was convinced that I needed to pack a bag and move
Her whole face lit with such delight
Every wrinkle, every indentation
The only problem was finding the perfect spot to call home

In the book of her
There is a chapter often skipped.
Soft spoken, never read aloud.
In the book of her
This chapter is chaperone by guilt, regret
A wonderful chapter not easily accepted by those whom thumb straight to it
Often the chapter after is most fulfilling.
This unique chapter is what makes her well her
No fancy words, no editorial staff
Just the thoughts she keeps to herself.
The wonderful thoughts often seen as constellations that fill the night sky
A combustion of goofy laughs Noone hears and conversations amongst herself.
A priceless vocabulary of made up words and unused slogans
A chapter that keeps up with all of her cheat dates filled with loads of chocolate drenched with more chocolate.
The things that are all worthwhile as well as the things that make her feel insecure.
In the book of her
This is one of the best chapters
One hardly anyone stops to read

And when she cut the radio on
Everything became so clear
I never heard the words to my favorite song; I listened intently.
Not only capturing the words
But this very moment.
Every expression
The amount of thought put into this exchanged gesture.
What was this
It wasn't rock, it wasn't pop
It's wasn't the mellow tone of rhythm and blues
What was this
This explosion that occurred with the next look of her eyes
Like psychedelic euphoria
Oozing from our lips
Erratic heart throbs pulsating through the air waves
Connecting us,
No matter how far we were

To lie for me was some what of a big deal
To lie for me was mundane in the existence of truth.
More of an prediction of the next thought or action
From one moment to the next as it's quite hard to say whats done
relying on reaction alone.
So unlike myself, a rare moment of potential
Behind the rotation of lips spinning on the axis of conversation
In all honesty
The forgetting of names, unintentional speaking.
What led to this quantum of unparallel thinking
This constant spinning of transcendence.
Earth
The raising and falling of the sun
You never say hey or look my way
but insist to make up for the moments missed in the abundance of choice
Precisely the point of rockets
Blasting off
Casting sheet metal and other casings into the atmosphere
before it's destination.
The missing pieces found, later researched to be placed in some big
museum sooner or later.
When does our leap year begin, has it passed
The gravity of thought preceding before step
To me the truth was that much appealing
Removing the dark side that covered the moon
The detail presented in an telescopic view missed by most.
Turning the calendar
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
waiting for the next leap year to occur

Her love was rebellious,
Perfectly Defiant to man made testimony
Testimonies sent fluttering page after page handwritten by scholars without imagination.
Her love was rebellious
A pen waiting to be relived of its ink.
A stamp of emotion
Which leaves uncertain marks
Semi colons and closed parentheses.
The face of man left across
blue lines of paper.
Would she circumvent.
The page left blank lost in thought
Are we certain we are made in God's image
Man made names, submission to rebuttal of faith.
The alpha and omega extended with each reach of our hand.
A form of Religion beginning with each smile of her lips.
Branching from each thought of the red stem,
Three holes
Spouting lines of thought.
Doodles of string like hair.
Strings for arms, legs
Two circles used as breast
The details that make us so silly
Rebellious in the sense of drawing outside of the lines.
These fragile thoughts drawn on paper
With the concept
Nothing is as beautifully drawn as we imagine

She was a victim of my creative stimulus,
But I, no Frankenstein.
Great change brings sudden fear.
In brutal honesty,
Could she perhaps see I was the one dead searching for life through her all along.
All along I the sheet of paper that's become delicate to the wither of her hand.
The ideals and sketches
Alert that any moment I could be *** up and thrown to the side.
Without the modest nod of ink from her pen.
With careful eyes, thoughts only divert so long.
My hand longs to touch
But my mind is not so such anymore.
At this point religion became unaffordable.
I now suffered misery of a different sort, not wanting to lose what we've created.
I Feared she'd flee once she sees me for what I really am
A hideous creature searching for an perpetual sense of resurrection with
The acceptance of growing old with someone