I'm sitting on the curb,
I see a rusty old bolt
laying on the pavement.

I pick it up,
turn it and feel
its heft,
its cold edges,
my fingers
now stained orange.

I run fingertips
over threads
still sharp,
not stripped.

It once held
something together,

and still could.

What is it like
To have a heart
With no feelings

What is it like
To have a mind
That controls you

What is it like
To have a mouth
That won't work when you need it to

What is it like
To have hands
That make you choke yourself

What is it like
To be normal?

All I need is a single glance,
And the words pour out.
The poems write themselves.
And the songs sing on their own,

All I need is just one look,
Just a peak of your eyes.
Over the top of your book.
Just a glimpse of your smile.

A word from your mouth,
That etches itself into my mind.
A giggle from your lips,
That dances its way onto a page.

A touch of your hand,
That tingles my skin.
A playful punch at my arm,
That jabs at my heart.

Everything you do,
Everything you are,
Is enough to inspire.
You are… my muse.

A pair of lily white wings
   dangling in the dappled moonlight esprit;
hang entangled as silken spider web
   draped in the sweet Magnolia tree

From beneath there was no way of knowing
   why a pair of abandoned wings lodge mislaid
One could not help but wonder how high
   one might fly with cherub wings

But these callused feet tread far below the treetops
   too high up from roots to climb
No telltale tiptoe prints cavort to be the talebearer
   No feathered traces scattered all around

A hearken say, tickle-footed as a ladybug,
   hold forth in a breeze brushed ear
Not completely undoubtable heed spoken;
   a language bestow from another ether
softly breathe a whisper'd sigh:

"Behold the wings of a fallen angel;
   uplifted by love's amazing grace
Lost alone in a moonstruck blindness
   an angel flying too close
           to the ground

                      ~

                   Jesse

Tidal currents crash within your irises
Siren lights glisten upon succulent lips
Provocative scent permeating all around you
Delicate fingers gently caress luscious flesh
Addicted to the rushing rhythm of a beating heart
Pulled by resonant ballads of a delicate soul
Drawn by lilting cadences of tender whispers
A subtle allure, an enticing, enchanting grace
An elegant masterpiece dancing across the landscape of our lives

There isn't a bit of me that doesn't carry you
Like a glistening balloon, when the skies stand sullen
Your name, but a whisper no one will hear
A secret that soft escapes my lips when all else is silent

A silent rhythm
Beckoning beats lingering one to the next
Its warmth a soothing touch
Like whispered promises between fingertips
Oblivious to the world outside their union
Compelled by this subtle song
Submitting to its seductive call
Reaching blindly out
A willing prisoner to a softly beating heart

Red.
The color of sunlight through eyelids,
Morning clouds before a storm,
Frosted rosebuds and Eve's fruits forbid.
Red.
The color of cheeks flushed,
Falling hearts like autumn leaves,
Wax seal of love notes all covered in dust.
Red.
The color of cherry juice on pale lips,
Soft tongues burnt by bitter coffee,
Blurry traffic lights and cold finger tips.
Red.
The color of beating skin,
Tender hearts rubbed raw,
Silk on curves and a moaning violin.
Red.
The color of freshly stained sheets,
Blood red sun dripping down her skin,
The holy place where her thighs meet.
Red.
The color of dim firelight as eyelids close,
Limbs of lovers intertwine in gold,
And now the color of my words, I suppose.
Red.
My favorite color.