You
blue hue,
brew dew.

Who knew,
I’m new.

Woo
and cue,
the clue.

You
glue,
my do.

O true.

Pulled as tight as the netted stars
Contentment is the only thing I hear
Wind roaring through my hair

There must be something I've forgotten
Some forgone prologue to this ebony cheer

This bowel of awkward just spills from my mouth
As if I could dry heave the perfect soliloquy,
Cite the succinct sonnet

"Friends, Romans, Countrymen"
"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun"

It feels so good to feel uncomfortable again
To fumble over missed turn signals
It's been too long
Since I've calmed my  nerves
With a clove cigar,  a pen
And the cool grey of the night

I will not write you into poetry,
because you are worth more than these few lines deserve.
More than my metaphors could muster.
Beyond my simile.

I will not inscribe your name on my arm,
nor place you as a seal to my heart
lest my gestures be rendered meaningless.

Instead, I will trace my dreams
in circlets around your head.
I will draw upon the back of your hand
my good fortunes and pleasure.

I will seal each moment
                with the softness of your skin
and lay my anchor between the tips of your fingers.

I will mouth non-sense syllables,
and laugh out of turn.

All, in turn, just to see you smile.

Because in a world where everything seems fleeting,

this moment is forever.

I've hated you
Despised you
Wanted you dead
Wanted never to hear your voice again
But now
I can't hate you
It means love
Hate means love
In size equivalence
So to rid myself of you
I'm neutral
I don't care
I walk away
Closure
At last
I'm free.

In such despair can be found hope
In lies can be found truth-
But not for those who feed on lies
Let suckle from their youth-
Oh hearts that die and wither slow!
Such hopeless cry shall never know-
Yet- truth with glory reigns beside
For those of whom do seldom lie-
Hearts- slow despair- are slow to die!
And live a joyous life-

A glass vase upon the floor,
Faster than it can stand,
Becoming evermore,
the likeness of it's impermanence.
The contents it can't hold,
Intermixed with its being,
Becomes a new truth.

We are that which we hold,
when we cannot let go.
Sometimes life lets go for us.