If only I could get a date for once.

And no, don't be an ******* and show me a calendar,

Followed by the saying, "Here's 365 of them."

Because it's probably a leap year, *******.
That would make 366.

But I need a date that's better than all the dates you could find in a calendar.

I need a date where the two of us could just be ourselves.

A date where both of us could have the time of our lives.

I need a date that could literally save my life.

With that one special lady.

I need a date with Lady Luck.

Or does she go by "Destiny" now?

The alcohol has set in,
The jazz has lighten the mind,
With the wine rushing,
The rays of that far end memory.
The Beatles were on the old tapes,
While the old man reached his deck,
Brought out an crystal glass,
A drink was poured and served,
As the hands rose to her brown hair,
Shades of a beautiful lady poured up,
Eyes dimming with the black,
Yet clinging at her face.
She seemed hot in her sadness robe,
While her hair played to the song,
A sundress night on a cloudy sky,
For she was the robber,
That robbed me of my security,
With a dagger of hope and life.
Tuned to this lost night affair,
I laid my heart and eyes on the tables,
Rowed the boat to her,
Stood beside with a smile,
She was crying goodbyes to her past.
Then we talked through difficult times,
Shared a shy smile,
Like a beautiful song,
I turned and we touched our drunk lips,
She leaned and this hands hugged her,
Lost in that classy moment,
The time ceased and the tapes played,
A lost love song.

I am the night siren
Calling you
To still waters
I have summoned the
Waves to beseech you
Upon my shores
Moon tide
Deep rain cast down
To brush your lucid lips
With the eternal
Into the depths
Fluid blanket
Of darkness
I am the night singer
Bringing you the song…

I don’t want to save you
But if
a simple
nod reaffirms
your existence
or
my smile averts
the imminent
chatter in your head
or
my kind words negate
the plunder of you from
Rogue tongues

Then let me
navigate with you
Thru this unforgiving world
to nestle in the
comfort of being
rain for you
all over again

Back home,
There is a boy
With red hair, freckles,
And eyes the shade of blue
His mother calls "lady killers."

He's colorblind;
At least enough to believe
In jellyfish.
His father builds houses
With a rib-less heart
The boy calls home.

His mother,
Sews trust with her spine.
And thirty years later
They still find love
In the lonely isles of
The local Laneco.

His teacher says
He needs a pen pal,
So after school
He writes to me:

"Hi, how are you."
"I'm fine, thanks, and you?"

And then he asks me
What it's like to be
"Grown up"
And just how many
Stars I've scarred
With nothing but the rusty
Edge of my name.

So I fold the
Envelope of this
Crinkled heart into a letter
Of tattered Bibles
From hotel drawers of
Lost loves and dead friends
And find the courage
To tell him what
Being a man means.

I tell him:
We call it growing up
Because boulders
Always roll down.
It's refusing CPR
For every time you drown
In your own pride.

It's loving a girl
For every time she tried.

Tried to
Convince your tunnel vision
That her body is not a cave.
That respecting a woman
Is more important
Than how well you pave
Your parking lot heart.

Shallow like a baking pan.

This is an apology.

For every man
Who ever thought a woman's body
Is the only temple worth praying to.
Making four leaf clovers
From petals of roses
Trying to get lucky.

I know it's not lovely,
To kiss someone who
Is so constantly
Full of *******.

And I'll admit it.
I'm not yet
Where I need to be
But I thank God
That I'm no longer
Where I use to

See I'm used to
Smoking way too many
*** scenes to know that
There is not enough
Alcohol in the world
To ever clear my mind.

And I have caused way
Too many Prozac commercials
To know that there is
No effective dosage
For this disorder
Of indecency.

To know that it is
No measure of good health
To be well adjusted
To a sick society
Of mechanical men
Always worried about
Who and when they're going
To plug into.

So I tell him:

You are not a robot,
A computer, or a program.
And your choices are the only
Thing that will ever make you a man.

So strap up your boots,
Bury the ashes,
Shake the dust,
And dandelion your
Heart in every
Direction of home.

But most importantly,
Go easy on the ladies;

Because
The older I get and
More I learn about myself
The more I'm writing
With my eraser
Than with anything else.

Who am i?
Does it matter? Who are you? Do you care to know? Maybe we are one and the same...sharing the same pain because of where we come from. Dancing to the same drum. Looking to have fun trying to avoid that same bullet from the enemies gun...we're both growing and learning...mistakes made, lessons learned. The fire within us both continues to burn...soon we learn while laughing at the same joke, we've both fallen hard, in love inhaling all the smoke from that heavenly herb...we found true love in a place that gives us none. You have helped me see who i am by showing me who u are. Our spirits shine inspite of the dimming souls around us...the ghetto can be a horrible place, but we carry on the path we found this special thing...now we can sing the song of ****** thru the complexity of negativity we are surrounded by...u and i become one, making love so passionately, *******, but oh so tender...EVERYTIME is greater than the last...im your lady, u my man...we fall n dream in eachothers arms. Wake up the next sunrise to do it all again...