Can you not feel my happy mouth speak?
Reach with your fingertips.  Seek!

Until all the world falls into exquisite darkness
You will remain my spark.

The velvety richness of you next to me
Is like trying to fill a thimble with the deep blue sea.

It is too much.

Smell this.
There is a great stench among us.
It's stinking up society
And the justice system.
It's ruining a nation's deepest beliefs.
It's spoiling the achievement of a next generation.
It's pungent.

Taste this.
Even I can taste it on my tongue,
But I'm too much of a lover
To let it part from my thoughts.
It's meat rotting, turning to maggots.
It's poison festering deep in the core of man
And dispersing through his pores.

Hear this.
The wailing of a mother
As she cries for the life of her son.
The same yell screamed by
The crowned young ******
As she watched our Savior be nailed to a cross.
It's screeching.

See this.
A child.
A child slain
In the unjust ways of society.
A child bleeding life
Onto a cold, heartless ground.
A child. A child
Dying in broad daylight.
A child's smile,
Once brighter than a million suns
Going dark. Burning out.
It's flame, once ablaze,
Tiptoeing dimmer into darkness.

Feel this!
Warm blood.
Hot bullet.
Cold hearted.
Allow your fingers to tremble
Across the badge
That's rough around the edges.
That's connected to your assassin.
Feel the victim's hope disintegrate
With his breath.
Feel his mother's heartache.
Feel God's disappointment.

Sense this.
Sense innocence.
Sense wrongness.
Sense injustice.
But can you truly sense
The senseless
Of the situation?

He laughs at me

When I arch my back

Trying to get the last drop

i'd like to expand your consciousness
darling tell me how to accomplish this
dwelling in sheer confidence
where existence can't seem to conquer it
a look of pure astonishment
pronouncing every consonant
your words fail to reach my grip
as they melt off your tongue and lips.

I remember my first kiss
the sloppiness turns my cheeks red
and if I had to relive that moment
I swear I'd rather be dead
my first kiss was in middle school
when I thought that I was in love
but rather lust took hold
but I didn't know about a "glove"
back in my younger days
my romance was in a book
i believed in Prince Charming
and also Captain Hook.
it was in the back seat of the bus
as he gently held my hand
i leaned over to his mouth
and it was so stinking bland
no sparks, no fire
just a lot of spit
gosh i really wish there was
a guide-line kissing kit

Sad isn’t pretty.
Sorrow is beauty
And depression has its allure.
Grief is engaging.
I am not in love with the idea of sad
But I believe there is a morbid
Beauty that some moths
Emerge from their cocoons
With no mouth.
Like the girl you see,
“improving herself”
Digging herself a deeper hole.
Sad is boring,
Misery is enchanting.

*(r.e.)