He's staring intently
                                                  at the task in hand
incomplete masterpiece
                                                 outlined (a deep black)
bitten lip;
                                                 - out of focus
I adoring His own
                                              magnum opus
hands;
ache to trace
                                             sharp jawline; a
defined collarbone-
                                            ridges and valleys
…..Gravitating back
                                           he holds it up for approval
dimpled smile;
                                               breaking dawn

                            "Perfect"
                     (hear myself whisper)
closer now, frozen tide
                                             a whiff of the ocean
                        tsunamis in my heart ; waves crashing

          (but I wasnt talking about the sketch)

I'm showing him new
ways to *****.
Try to forget the past
lovers, especially the last.
I let him bite and chew
on my recipe for the stew.
Let the precious events glide
while I sat and lied.
But I wouldn't call them
lovers, as they made me numb.
They would sit and stare
with another affair.
They wouldn't want to do
the things he asks me to.

Sometimes I feel like I should slap the **** out of the next man who says he loves me.
Not during *** either
A slap for pain, not pain and pleasure

Hindsight is showing me a hallway of all the men who said they loved me
Under each frame is a heart
Under each heart is a list of the fuckery they brought to the table
The fuckery I accepted
The fuckery I said was okay because I loved them too

I believe in loving unconditionally
I'm starting to feel like that means hurting freely
It's like opening my rib cage, exposing my heart and letting out all this love in the middle of a war zone

Gotta be real
I'm not a ******* Care Bear
My love stare has been known to tame the vilest of monsters
But over time, the release of my love changes nothing when they have no respect
When they are mad
When they disregard my feelings
When its over

To the next man who says, "I Love You, Candace."
I say to thee, "*******!"
Watch out for the hook

Sometimes there are words on blank pages,
If you look closely enough.
Sometimes there is music in the silence,
If you listen closely enough.
But it all comes down to if you see it,
The spaces between the letters,
The messages in my whispers,
Or my cunning subtlety that screams in your face.
Sometimes my eyes recite poetry,
But you’d have to look into them to know.
Sometimes there are prayers in my blank stares,
And sometimes my silence is a drum.

I saw her first across the bowling alley,
Laughing at her own gutter ball.
She flipped her long black hair
Over her shoulder;
She wore a golden cross necklace
That bounced lazily against her
Beautiful olive colored skin.
Lady Gaga blaring from the speakers
Prompted her to dance back to her friends,
Who smile at her antics.
All of a sudden, she looks over at me, and
I try to pretend I wasn’t staring,
But it’s too late.
She smiles shyly, without her teeth,
Just a slight turn of her pink lips,
And her cheeks redden slightly.
Whatever manliness I still had in me
Melted when I saw her smile.
I smile back in what I think is a cute way.
My friends cries break thought my thoughts,
“It’s your turn!”  “Go already!”
Yet I can’t break my eyes off of her.
She goes to her friends and sits down,
Sips her Coke quietly.
“Go!”
I look at the clock.
I’ve wasted five minutes of the game.
I blame the girl in Lane 7.

sitting in a coffee shop
a man is grinning while
he stares at his laptop
the light from the screen
reflects off his glasses
and his eyes are great
white orbs and he
smiles and smiles and
all I can think is
that I will never
hear you sing again