One, Two, Three
Stood on a tree
Green, Purple, three
Green sang to purple,
Purple turned to three
“Do you hear? Do you hear..”
Three responds,
“I only see the beauty in front of me”
Purple fluffed
Green continued to sing
Purple turned to three,
“Do you hear.. Do you hear?”
Three responds,
“with you in my sight, sound is not for me”
Purple puffed,
While
Above the three, the leaves slithered a sneak
Green continued to sing
Purple to Green,
“Why do you bother, you cannot sing
More beautiful
Than I am me”
Green continued to sing
Purple begins to speak,
“You need..” then-
Tackled,
Taken,
while Green continued to sing
Three turned to Green,
While Green sang to the tree
Where Purple struggled-
Begging Three to see,
Begging to be seen,
Begging to be seen,
and on purples last breath
Three decided to speak-
“I need no sight,
As long as Green sings”

Lets talk about making love
Ill dance for you from above
Carve my layers against yours
Let my lips kiss your scars

I always weaken from the depth
Sweet warm skin around your neck
Let me drown you in pleasure
Tasteful than a winter flower

Drifting away, waiting in vain

In this shaded room we created
My mind and yours are fated
Living inside these quiet sheets
Our desperate bodies finally meet

Never shy away from my stare
Breathe me in like toxic air
Slowly weeping, tongues tied
Im on my knees, weak and tired

Lets talk about making love
Then maybe someday-
you'll finally look at me

Drifting away, waiting in vain

We, the Midnight Wanderers
Take pride in our nocturnal sensations,
Stalk the moon in its exposed manner,
For we gain comfort from its loyalty,
And wish we lived upon its lies.

Thank you for being nocturnal with me;
for kissing me on the cheek
with your grizzly jaw,
for letting the silence between us speak
for itself.

Thank you for dreaming
of Greece
and music festivals
and road trips,
and for carrying my friends across the busy streets
and for laughing about it;
for holding me in that perfect way
that makes me feel safe
and loved.

Thank you for letting me bounce around enlivened with energy
and never asking me to slow down;
for never complaining when I wander away;
for staying;
for treading softly and living free.

Thank you for astronautical mornings, sweltering afternoons spread out in rainbow grass,
and for smoky nights;
thank you for being the last one on the dance floor with me.

Thank you for horses grazing on the beach,
and for log cabin jacuzzi hazes,
and for unfalteringly
hoping;
for huddling in a tent in soft white sand;
for believing in me.

Dear friend, you feel like home to me,
so let's keep chasing
dogs through the streets and trekking through sewage tunnels and
watching hours fly away from us like a swarm of gulls on a Mediterranean beach.

You know me:
a fickle girl, afraid
to commit or admit or abstain,
yet all the same,
thank you
for being my
friend.

You're like the sweet smell of rain,
The petrichor falling upon my lips,
And you never cease to keep me in awe.

The delight of you is strong,
But you never stay long enough
For me to fully appreciate
The feeling of your presence.

So next time you greet me,
Stay,
And let me show you what it's like
To roam the earth so whimsically.

I met one of my soulmates once.
He died in Maine, my favorite place.
I don't go there anymore.

I don't think about it anymore, really.
Except for days like today,
when there are leaves in the air and
I'm stuck staring at the water.

Remembering how he put my life in limbo,
how he awakened a part of me,
who he made me become via domino effect.

The way his hair ruffled up in the salty air,
looking back to see his slightly reddened cheeks mirroring my own.
Him chasing me on the jetty,
staring out into the waves glinting like gold on the crest.
The sand and the sun and the movement.

He was a word I don't use.
I hide it deep inside of me.
I hide the loving adoration,
I hide the fact that I too,
had some of ******'s charm lurking in me.
Waiting for the right person to bring it out.

He stunned me.

He made me a *****, a wanton *****.
And I loved him for it.

My hair still curling at the edges,
like a young child's does.
I was a young child.
And he, a man much older,
a man daring and dashing and perverted
enough to make me lose my innocence.
To make me love.

He killed himself three years after knowing me.
He did this to himself.
We both know that, even now.

I still think about his touch, his mouth, his laughter.
It has been seven years since I have known it,
since I have felt him,
and I still am left with a burning need.

This is what a ******* did to me.
He may have hung himself that day in Maine,
but he did not **** the secret or the desire.

I have felt the toxicity of touch, and I seek it every day.