What of a love unspoken?
A mutual feeling, both parties are too scared to name?
Can it live without a title?
Or will it cause pain if claimed?

What is a love unspoken?
Deep conversations in the dead of night,
The moonlight revealing the man under the bravado.

Something with slight glances,
And smiles,
His words are truth,
A reflection of him,

The best of him,
And his love,
Unspoken,

Where in this moment,
Love is enough for him to give,
And nothing even matters outside the world that we’ve created.

What of our love unspoken?
Are all your actions intentional to keep this sacred thing going?

Can it continue to bloom in secrecy when the world attempts to spoil it?

What of our love unspoken?

Will a title to this unknown love halt the growth of something beautiful?

Will it die as heartbreak, and named?

Left to the wind to rot in silence,
As we pretend that nothing happened with halfhearted, unimpressed glances?

What of this love unspoken?
Untitled but noticed
Simple yet wonderful
And to my knowledge
Final

I know that love is complicated,
But my heart speaks with honesty on this bond formed in secrecy,
It's truth when I say our hearts were destined one day to be,

What of a love unspoken?

Your father written all over you  And I don't even know you yet  Let's participate in a high-speed chase to the swimming pool  And pretend my chest stayed in my triangle bikini  Washed yesterday!   I’m wearing a bikini  In front of a boy I've only touched the finger tips of
On accident   I could pose and POSE and pose   With every lick of a mollar  Through all my years of fiction  I've never gnawed on the open house   As I tap dance across the breakfast table   And eat ice cream from your hand   Which is totally absurd and completely senseless  
And somehow quite redundant  
I've had a dream about this
I've had a
And you're in your boxers  And I’m not spiteful I don’t look like you
I’d do again
Would you- ?
I’ll leave in 15

what to do when you’re ugly but have good chemistry
1. think about all the good talks
2. find him in the crowd
3. watch him find you in a crowd and perhaps snicker
4. lick elbow to elbow (if he allows)
5. walk behind him hoping he’ll hear the carefully placed quiet footsteps you’ve laid out
6. smile dearly when you don’t completely hear him
7. love him even after a clear disappointment
8. stop searching for him
9. cry about it talk about it laugh about it
10. it’s you you are okay and you were okay even before
11. it’s okay for him to like you and not say and it’s okay for him to not like you and say
12. find out results (probs by day forty)
13. don’t **** yourself figuring it out

Imposed by a scent of the back chatter,
behind the air of the hair tucked by your ear
once a soul that was merely an imposter
The intense pleasure continues on- waking up
to the sound of dawn; under the thinnest of clouds
thin as butter- as the sunlight spreads across
The edge of their world; as like two legs spread apart
with a promise of a night filled with wet love
Two lips are meeting in the yellow shivers, beneath
the huge gems of eyes, that hold out a jewelled pleasure

The two resting upon a bed made out of barley;
filled in intoxicating lines of brand-new sheets-
The smell of regret only shows as the rise of after cigarettes
The towers of greying tired eyes; numb under the tomb’s
excrete- the cold breathes of kissing with a cold heart,
lifts the fur of a lion’s haunches

***** buckled by the belt wrapped around one’s desire
at another attempt- it’s no stranger, then the grave on
the tongue of a perfectly dead conversation
And about then, he wonders how could he go back to
the past, once where they were just casual friends…

You're not mine and I don't want you to be.
But I want to claim your attention like a trophy.

It's not love, but it's something new.
Not many would understand what's between me and you.

Your kisses caress my skin softly,
And leave a trail of burning desire as I moan breathlessly.
I crave your touch and to feel you against me.
What is this forbidden dance of passion and fantasy?

Yet I do not dare to question this mystery.
I let myself enjoy our bodies moving in harmony.

No, you're not mine, and I don't want you to be.
Yet what is this gnawing feeling that grows inside me?

I tell myself not to think too much.
But you always know how to make me blush.

I let a tear drop fall at the thought of the fate of of us.
Not daring to question what we are or make a fuss.

your floor is ******* filthy.

i can hear you in the background behind me
saying my name the way you curse
hold it in your mouth, hot
spit it out
watch it burn,
embers flying through the smallest gap in your teeth.

you stare hard at me,
maybe to see where the sparks catch
hoping one lands on my face
or in my eye,
whichever will move my gaze from the floor
to you.
but i can't.

i'm still looking at your gross ******* carpet.
it's all i can focus on,
a stained oriental with crunchy grey tassels
that i can only assume used to be white.

i'd like to ask you about it,
but it's not my turn for questions.
i'm not sure if i'll even get one
before the curtains catch flame.

so i sit there,
silent, fireproof
waiting for you to finish using
each and every wrong
ever done against you
as kindling
for the anger you feel towards me.

i think it upsets you
that i can't get burned anymore,
but you still sit
white hot,
ashen gray rings around your eyes
asking why i just won't catch.

you're breathing smoke from your nostrils,
but you're no dragon.
you're a book,
451 pages of relation
and situationships
and drunk texts
and missed calls
from cleaning ladies
and therapists,
angered that you
ever caught spark
from my ashes
and burned.