I see the way you stare at him,
With fierceness in your eyes,
I see the way you blush,
With lips parting to smile,

I see the looks of guilt,
When eyes drift unto me,
I see the way you tremble,
When you know that I have seen.

I see the mannerisms,
The firm meets doused with wine,
I smell it on your breath,
I sense it within our time,

I see the way you stare at him,
With fierceness in your eyes,
I see the way you blush,
With lips parting to smile,

If only for a moment,
I’d been less naive to know,
He already has had you,
Your mind, body, your soul...

I see the way you stare at him,
With fierceness in your eyes,
The blushing never to cease...
Had you ever been mine?

Known you almost all my life
Got me singing
How much I've fallen for you
Much words I use in my poems
Are to describe you
Or talk about moments we shared over the years
I've told you so much
That my own parents wouldn't know me
If I opened up to them
Girl I see you like a friend
But still I've fallen for you
You've got me writing melodies
Just talking about how you make me feel
You've been away for a while now
But **** I saw you this morning
& nothing seemed to be different
You gave me your new number
And said "better use it cause I would love
To talk to you"
Reading this one may ask
How could you like someone who isn't around
Well this girl has been there just waiting for
Me to finish my adventures
To come home and settle down with her

one by one they leave
as light fades on the river
the empty crease

Know who you are and let noone degrade you,
Don't let anyone define who you are,do it yourself,
Don't lower your standards to fit the standards of others because if someone loves you they'll definitely respect your standards and limits!
You deserve respect,respect yourself first to enable others to do the same,
Know your worth!if someone doesn't respect your values then its plain and simple,they don't love you,.

You breathe in.
A kiss:
how do you take
your coffee?

I prefer it sweet
and warm
against my lips.

I breathe in.
A story:
coffee grinds pour out
into wet garden soil,
later staining the clothes of my
kneading daughter.

She prefers water to coffee,
sober and clean,
though
studying dribbling coffee like
a drip of morphine.

How do you take
your coffee?
I reply.
A revelation:
most mornings I make it fresh,
but the *** brewed overnight
somehow tastes sweet.