It's always in a song.
The one I play on repeat.

It's up loud.
But only I can hear it.

It's the same beat.
But always slower than my pulse.

Taking you to places where your heart knows.
3.52 min is all it takes.

I used to yearn but now it's admired.

Always the same song. Just the memories change.

Today I wrote a song about your teeth.
They are crooked and imperfect.
Just like this. Our hands. And these
songbirds are all liars. We haven’t learned.
Flesh memory is overrated. Last night
I felt the linen, and it whispered to me
nothing. Not even the shape of you
reminds me of happiness. What is the use
of these metaphors if they can’t
beautify you anymore. No longer as fierce
as the inferno I allowed you to become.
Drowning in bedclothes, trying to understand how streams of consciousness
are becoming bodies of water. Today
I wrote a song about your teeth. And I
read it aloud to the voiceless, and now
they know what love tastes like.

I made him a list of songs to listen to.

They tell my feelings, my heart break, my love...

And to tell him it all, all he has to do it listen....

and I never have to say a word.

Unheard songs are most beautiful
Unseen beauty is most attractive
Untold story is most interesting
Unshared sorrows are most painful
Let me ask if you would like to sing to me the sweet melody?
If you would like to let me see the fulgurant beauty?
If you would like to let me hear the unheard echoes?
If you would like to let me know the meaning of grief?
Let me in
Open the door
Don't be afraid
You'll feel better, for sure
Because  you  have  got  every  right   to  be  happy
Dear,  you  don't  need  to  be  ­depressed    *anymore.

Inhale deeply of the seas

  whilst your days are youthful

   and lips blush with dawn,

surrender your passion

to enchantment 'pon  the

      ***** of wildflowers' bloom,

dance within winds' touched beyond

     fiery kisses of sensuality's desire,

allow your affections to waft midst

   heartfelt poetry & lustful love songs,

feel the earth between your toes,

   before sensibility denies passage

   and your eyes become a vintage flush

     'tween life's unkind shades of blue,

& what was once unveiled amid moonbows

     on hot summers' reminiscent twilights

I write you
all these poems
wanting to give them all
to you.
But I hold them back
and keep them
for the time being
because you are not ready.

But sometimes I wonder,
do you secretly write
songs about me
the way I not-so-secretly write
poems about you?

I'm the faded old photograph tucked away between pages of the romantic novel you read in high school.

I'm the smell of the coffee beans that greets you while you sip a latte macchiato on a rainy evening with your newfound love.

I'm the lyrics of a song you sing no more,
I'm the high you get from the pills you take
to drive the loneliness away.

I was there, I am here
and I will be
a part of everything that you've ever touched to your lips
or laid your eyes upon.

Every city that you breathe in,
the winds will bring my name to me.

And if not my name,
at least give to me the sigh that escapes your lips
when you feel alone in a room full of people

When you'd hold the glass of 1973 Chavignol between your fingers
like you once held my hand
I hope the color of your wine
reminds you of the color of my amber eyes
but ah! where would you find the depth.

I'd live in every second your watch ticks by,
every mile you drive out of the town where we lay beneath the ink sky and  those million stars
and made memories through the night.

Sometimes, you grow. Get over people.

But you'd never get over how they made you feel.

That's how they stay,
Like the after taste of something you ate.

And no amount of alcohol could make you forget it.