Your love for me is like a black currant-
Red and pink inside.
You are wild outside, but sweet and tender inside.
Make me a promise to never grow old for your love for me.
I will never grow too old to have love for you.
What do you do when you have no-one to talk with?
I think of you, and how close you are to speak with.
Every day my heart grows fonder of you and your love for me.
When does your love end?  Mine is never-ending, it never leaves,
and it will never fade.
What does your love garden grow?  Mine grows flowers and currants,
all in a neat little row.
When you are gone, my love still goes on.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Sugar canes are sweet, and you are, too!
Where do you go when you need someone who cares?
I just look at your picture next to my bed, and I know that you will always be there.
Letters are great, but hugs are cheaper.
When you need a letter, I’ll give you a hug if it’s cheaper.
Your love for me is like the night sky.
I’ll always know when you’re coming by.
When the moon is high, you’ll be coming by.
We meet at the middle of the month, and the end of the month, with no changes
to tear us apart.
If it is the middle of the month, I know we will be off to a great start.
Your love for me is like a diamond-a diamond in the rough.
You make my heart beat faster, and a diamond makes your love start faster.
But, I don’t need any stinking diamonds.  Give me a hug-it’s cheaper, and more
loving than a case of diamonds in the rough.
Love is hard to last, but I know what is even more tough.
Having no-one to talk with with times get tough.
And, you help with both of those-love and someone loving to talk with through
thick and thin.
You are mine, and I know we will always win!!  Love you until time stands still,
or until someone makes us choose love or our favorite pill!
Just joking, I love you still!!

As I opened my pack of starburst. I saw that I got a yellow one. Immediately I was upset because I was hoping to get a pink one. Then I realised that this mentality is polluting lots of people. Y'all sit here and want these pink starburst, but you overlook the yellow ones. So mainstream. Yeah the pink ones are good but the yellow ones are different. They have a little zing to them. I guess most people can't handle that. Don't stress over being a pink starburst. Embrace being a yellow or any other colour of starburst. You are different, and different is beautiful.

I know you have to leave
By the time summertime comes to an end.
You'll have to finally get dressed,
Your bare silhouette won't peer out
From the bathroom anymore.
No more nights at the corner bar
Talking of your mothers suicide.
The first Saturday you took me
Into my first gay club,
You took me down under the floorboards
To a night of aching and desire.
I had no idea I could look into your
Emerald eyes the way I did
While seeing a reflection of an ocean
With your face painted on the surface.
that first Saturday.
But baby I know summertime needs you back.
You need to go back to the oceans
Circling islands with no names.
I'll see you again when the summer wants
To send you back to your home.
You'll let me feel then what it
Feels like to feel inside you.
I can keep on edge till then.
I'll miss the taste of your strawberry lips
The first time you let me
Strip down and undress my pride
In the pool outside your house.
Just tell the summertime you have
Someone back home who needs you.

pink pepper berries,
invite to pluck and partake;
at one's peril of course.

Like a beautiful pink rose
She is in prime to bulldoze
Where ever she goes
Is well taken by those

Who know the grace and spirit
Which is ready to establish writ
By being always fit
With full force she can hit

Sublimity is her grace
Which determines her race
She has the graceful pace
Innocence plays on her face

I am victim just to see
Only on love plea
Where ever I happen to be
I am lost she is she


Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2014 Golden Glow

I bought a paper
Bag of sunshine
Stood on dry pavement in
An early autumn rainstorm
And let the damp crush it
Crumpled brown paper bag.

I remember a car trip in
A vehicle similar to this one
And how I had notebook paper and
A purple pen with purple ink
I guess that old Barbie pen was
My first love.

Honestly, my nose is cold but
It's not raining
And my socks are keeping
Me and my massive sweatshirt warm.

Pink braid, pink shoes
I'd like to think I'm wiser
As wise as the owl on my keys
Too wise to write a letter like I did.

Part you, part her
Part him, part them
Part coffee breath but mostly
I wrote this brown paper poem.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for sweet peas.
And whose skin could be misplaced for dogwood.
Tongue as innocent as the boy that cried wolf,
And eyes as golden as yore.

You knew of that girl, count every school day,
Where she walked through the door, head bowed and heart prayed.
'neath those bangs, whose color is as dark as our breaths, and as shiny as false tree,
Whose eyes--exotic--bluer--bluer than a thumbtack and bluebells set out by sea.

Whose eyes are mismatched by plentiful lips--small as the silver spec on my shoe,
And shimmered 'neath sterile light, as if she kissed the face of Mt. Rushmore, too.
With those high lips and V-line chin, which connected with her pencil neck to her petite body,
No ******* or bottom, with legs as thin as stilts and as blinding as our phones,
She holds the body of a cradle, and sings like a tongue-less canary.

Always kempt and proper--her hair tied back with a lovely noose.
And shoes worry not of dirt--for she never played outside.
Resting 'neath maple-wood trees like a bunny--face and knees tucked by arms, and that's where they reside.
Many boys had asked for her hand in play, but that bunny went deeper--deeper into the flesh hole she burrowed.
"Painfully shy, she was." They said.
And that pain was her devil.

For you knew not the cause of those florid, pink, cheeks.
Whose purpose means nothing but dead machines.
Whose eyes rung bright--struck the world alight,
Yet, they themselves could not see.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for vintage bust,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bile.
Whose eyes mistaken for lust,
And face mistaken for tile.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for heat,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bleach.
For again and again and again, the belt beats.
And hello to endless ******.

For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Blue waters and purple veins clash--wash again and again 'gainst land--and befit the word: queer.
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Innocence knows no bounds and eyes no longer see flavor,
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Exotic eyes bled--rained--pink--and pink--and pink with grand fervor...!
For sometimes it may frighten you to know,
Not all persons are truly healthy,
even those who you hold truly dear.

In the dream we were in a hotel in New York. We were walking in tandem towards a really tall glass elevator. We got in and went up to the hotel room;  we were both carrying powder blue suit cases and the same expression. He unlocked the door, outside the room the carpet was plush and forest green.  Keys jangle, tumblers fall, cut to us in the bathroom. Him on the toilet, dressed in tuxedo pants and a Hawaiian shirt, head in his hands looking tired. Me in the tub, the water is transparent purple and the floors are marble. I say something: inaudible. He slips out the tiny white box and shakes one, two, three times - always. A thin cigarette shimmies out of cardboard, into his hand, into mine and finally he lights it. Smoke curls up like a cliche and we do that until it's gone. We both know it's over, but the audience... The audience knows he's found the girl he wanted. She's got strawberry hair and only listens to Bright eyes. Who is she? Stage left, pan to elevator door sliding open and he's leaving. He's got his powder blue and baby pink beside him and I'm still in the tub with the ashes.

2 days
Of internal despair,
My lungs seemed to
Have forgotten what it is
To breathe.

My body isn't mine anymore,
I'm stuck in it,
My mind racing with thoughts
Of the night you tried
To make me yours.

Never have I been able to
Truly overwhelm
Over songs that narrate
Stories I never thought
I'd have to tell.

My bed never felt so empty,
I've never felt so hopeless
Over humanity.

So when I sit and see
The horizon,
It's as if the waves
Wash away the lies within.
When the below temperature water
Washes over my feet,
It's in those few seconds
That I begin to feel like me.

Me.

The one who kept hope
Despite her father's constant "no."
The one with veins profound in color
And in the words that seep out of them.

My second day of
Internal despair,
And as I waked upon pink sea **** so rare,
I inhaled salt water...
And for the first time in days,
My lungs remember air.