Kisses short and sweet.
Kisses long and deep.
Of all the Kisses I have known, I long for yours and yours alone.
You're January I'm December, opposites yet close together.
Your thoughtful analizations,
My dreams without hesitation.
Your emotional stability.
My artistic insanity.
Your whisper to my shout, my bass to your treble.
If I'm the words then you're the song.
So take my hand and sing along.
Because the music's always better,
when we play together.

Splattered.
The inkwell splattered.
Dissolving my hard earned thoughts in a murderous splash.
Splattered visions in my mind, no longer legible to the eye.
Smears on a page, words that can't be reclaimed.
Like a dream, with only the knowledge that you dreamed.
Upon waking the dream is gone forever,
Just Splattered

A kiss is a taste of a union
that may or may not be.
Two souls dipping toes
in love's waters.
Before diving into its sea.
I've kissed you,
I know,
we were meant to be.
I've tasted
your soul,
Now swim with me.

I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.

I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.

I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.

I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.

At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.

The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.

So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.

I lay down arms against the evening.

To the dreaming

I cast my gaze.

The road, a cold and lonely place.
Where a man can feel his heart break and spirit soar in equal measure.
Those long desolate Highways heading west.
Heading  nowhere  into distant mountain ranges that seem always out of reach.
Where do they go, I momentarily wonder, then know, as the road now leads to valleys below.
The ebb and flow,
the high and the low.
That is the road.
Where a man can lose himself,
yet find his soul.

Love doesn't have to rhyme.
It doesn't have to be shouted from the rooftops,
or written in the stars.
Yet it is a poets job to make it so
To elaborate, exaggerate, compare it to the incomparable,
Capture the unsnareable, share the unshareable. 
Like fingers finding fingers in the dark,
or tender hugs holding grief at bay.
The conversation of her eyes through a teardrop,
saying more than a million words could convey.
 And this is where we find the meaning of love,
in the quiet moments where no words are spoken.
Where tender kisses and soft touches
become a dance to the rhythm
of two hearts beating in unison, under a lover's moon.
Shared only in the reflections of their eyes.

I touched her and she ran.
 Not far away,she didn't run to leave,
she ran to stay.
Just to the edge of where my eyes could see.
Hovering there in the periphery,
somewhere between hope and illusion.
She haunted me.
 No,Hunted me. 
A cat with great skill, lying in wait its ****.
(OH WHAT A HUNTER I THOUGHT MYSELF TO BE.)
I touched her and she ran, not so far as when first began.
It happened again at least a time or two.
As I was starting to understand,
It came to me,
(Stupid Man)
Don't you see?
 She's caught you.