Half of me is here,
In a warm kitchen
With a girl I love
Who I'm not in love with,
And she loves me too
And she's not in it either,
And she's busy from stove to cabinet,
Making food like it's art, like it's poetry, like it's smiles,
Like she makes things
Because she just does that.
And half of me is here,
Warm and content and smiling,
And half of me is here.
It's just that half of me wanders.
I feel the cold, because half of me is out in the night,
Wandering through frost
To find her,
That girl with the wild hair and the lightning strike eyes and the voice like a summer morning,
And I wonder where she is, what she's thinking.
Maybe she's putting on lipstick in the mirror,
Tying her hair up in a bandana
Because I've never seen her without one,
Not ever.
Maybe she's getting ready for a party
One that I could be at were I not here,
One that would probably end in me hurting over her
But...
She would be there.
I would see her.
I feel it reverberate through my soul, a certainty,
That she looks beautiful tonight.
That her eyes are warm like a fire dancing in a hearth.
That she is not thinking of me.
It warms me more than the heat from the stove,
And makes me shiver with a cold more frigid than the night could ever be.
I shouldn't be near her, not today, not so soon.
And I'm not.
And I'm hurting over it,
Because it's hard to do what is healthy for you, sometimes.
I miss her with a vengeance.
It woke in me when she finally spoke a while back,
And I melted at the thought that she'd thought of me.
I shouldn't see her tonight.
Her and her friends, who give me odd looks when I smile too bright at her.
Her and her boyfriend, whose stony stare, last time, made me think he knew I loved her too.
I shouldn't see her because she will not see me.
And so it's a good thing that I'm here,
In a warm kitchen,
With a girl I love,
Who has henna drawn up her arms because I put it there with tenderness,
Who has a smile in her eyes and an understanding heart,
Who will, tonight, hold me with her whole being
Should I break at the memory of you
And tears leak through my cracks
And shards of glass ****** to the floor from my crumbling heart.
She will be there in the dark to tell me
It's okay to love you.

******* rocks are singing a mellow song,
emanating from the warmth  daylong,
received from the sun, that left them behind,
melted in to a red haze and gone in to ocean.
The dusky night moving on tip-toe is pleased
all ears, discerns and imbibes its meaning
for her to join seamlessly at the right moment.
The  stars, gentle still, are thrilled by this musical's
complex emotions, join in with their contribution,
subtle notes of winks, gleams and twinkle.

It was very hot. The day had gone just past its noon.
I'd stretched out on a couch to take a nap.
One of the window-shutters was open, one was closed.
The light was like you'd see deep in the woods,
or like the glow of dusk when Phoebus leaves the sky,
or when night pales, and day has not yet dawned,
- a perfect light for girls with too much modesty,
where anxious Shame can hope to hide away.
When, look! here comes Corinna in a loose ungirded gown,
her parted hair framing her gleaming throat,
like lovely Semiramis entering her boudoir,
or fabled Lais, loved by many men.
I tore her gown off - not that it mattered, being so sheer,
and yet she fought to keep that sheer gown on;
but since she fought with no great wish for victory,
she lost, betraying herself to the enemy.
And as she stood before me, her garment all thrown off,
I saw a body perfect in every inch:
What shoulders, what fine arms I looked on - and embraced!
What lovely *******, begging to be caressed!
How smooth and flat a belly under a compact waist!
And the side view - what a long and youthful thigh!
But why go into details? Each point deserved its praise.
I clasped her naked body close to mine.
You can fill in the rest. We both lay there, worn out.
May all my afternoons turn out this well.

I was designed to have a broken perspective,
A fragile state and my emotions are selective,
I feel like a robot, a creation of steel,
But this machine has the capability to feel,
The cogs, they may turn,
The engines may burn,
But this hollow, metal collection,
Has reserved a special section,
To be able to love,
To be able to show affection,

Was it worth 2 minutes of lustless ignominy
A misogynist practising polygamy
Years were hacked
Walls that were built with purpose
Everything said was fallacious and deluding
Pure gratification
Eating to feel full and drinking to get drunk

Heaven forbid I say you're just like the rest. The rest are just like you.