You called it a love bite
Like the word hickey would burn in your mouth
and strip away the taste of her still on your lips

You called it a love bite
Because hickey sounded like troubled teens
and stained sheets

You called it a love bite
Because her perfume still stuck to your shirt
and you didn't want to take it off

You called it a love bite
because you loved her
But you knew she called it a hickey
and nothing more.

Watching her sit with her crossed legs
And her gaze upwards
Like the world is too petty
For her eyes to surrender.
She was magnificent, yes
But her looks feigned a lie
Her eyes could **** with intense fire
Her scent was amicable
For her preying hands
And if a being so unfortunate
Crosses her path
Or meets her eyes
She springs like a cheetah
And rips them apart,
Metaphorically, of course.

.......

My eyes wander off

.......

His frenzied looks
And unshaved face
Ruffled up clothes
Looks like he has had his worst day
Wonder what's got him so worked up
Must be a hangover
Must have had a drink too much
Last night
Yes, I can see a wife
Beaten up in an alcohol-fueled mania.
But those petunias in his hands
Beautiful
What a contrast to the man himself
A mistress?
Or an attempt to gain forgiveness
From his wife?

.......

Sipping the best local tea
Sit back
And let my mind have its spree

.......

Pick pocket
Such an adorable face
Blue-eyed, her tiny hands
Slipping in and out
Procuring knick knacks and wallets.
Life was never fair
Mother's sick and in a tarpaulin roofed
Shack off the main street.
Dad's a drunk
And she's had enough with that nonsense.
Her timed precision  and skilled fingers
Workings its way for a loaf and
The extra change for her mother
Curled up like a ball
In pain.

.....

Change for the tea
And morning paper.
Picking up a stride
Take a left from the plaza
Into a throng of living bodies,
And to be one among
The many lives
Toiling,
Living,
**Breathing.

Do you hear my heartbeat,
beating at a million
miles a second
& do you feel me
trembling,
shuddering
like a violent earthquake
as I release
my passion
alone,
in the darkness
of my empty lair?

And if you did,
you would know Darling
the real meaning
of loneliness
& of sensuous-despair.

Oh, my dear, you're in love with a poet
and don't think for a second, he doesn't know it
of your every detail, he does fantasize
and then into poems, he does romanticize

Every time he makes you blush,
a little larger, grows your crush
and with each poem that makes you smile
you think about him, for a while.

You get stomach of butterflies
each time he writes, about your eyes.
and your heart, does little flips
when he writes, about your lips

At least he really hopes it does.
He hopes he's set your heart abuzz
Because he's a poet, and you're his muse
and you are perfect in, all his views.

when i see
You,
my heart
beats
like a brick
in a washing
machine.

tumbling, it steadily
chips
and breaks
down,
shrinking into an
unrecognizable cluster of
shards.

the spin cycle
slows
as you
depart,
and here i
sit in blissful
agony.

i wish this
heart
weren't so
****
weak, but i
take it's remnants
to the pond
and
skip them, watching
pieces
sink slowly,
joining
the other faulty
models i formerly
possessed.

Too perfect
To let you go

To happy
To cry

Too special
All this time
I'm spending with you

Too sad
to say goodbye

Too late
To leave

Too much fun
So you stay with me

Too in love
To not tell you
I'm in love with you