Ten men standing in a line,
but my eyes only go to one.

Ten men standing so fine,
but only one is the bullet
to my gun.

You're a drug they say.
They try to warn me.

I say I'm listening,
but I'm just wishing.
Oh can I take a drink?
I want to have some fun.

Ten men standing in line working hard,
but my eyes only want to write letters
to one.

Ten men standing ready for a game,
but only one could put my level
to shame.

You're a drug they say.
They try to warn me.

I say I'm listening,
but I'm just wishing.
Oh can I take a drink?
I want to have some fun.

The more trouble you make,
the more drinks you take,
you know that's how the
game starts.

A captain or a coke,
this is no joke,
my eyes only go to one.

You're a double and a half,
you make them all laugh,
look so sweet,
but you're bitter to the core.

My intentions are just a few sips,
but a few sips lead to more.
Ten men standing in line,
but I only want one picking
me off of the floor.

You're a drug they say.
They try to warn me.

I say I'm listening,
but I'm just wishing.
Oh can I take a drink?
I want to have some fun.

Don't fall in love.

You just ended a two-year
relationship with somebody
you were practically married too.

You moved to the city
and told yourself that you'd focus
on work and fun and anything
but falling in love.

You were down to meet boys.
Hang with boys.
Kiss boys. Go on dates with boys.
Maybe date a boy.

But then, he was there.
& he had been there
for a few weeks,
and you had the inkling,
and you being you,
you had to find out,
and now, look at yourself.

You're looking at him.
You're looking at him
like he's the next five,
ten, fifteen, sixty
years of your life.

Don't do it.
Don't do it.

I like you more than
Friday night football games with my friends
celebrating our team's first win,
eating concession-stand burgers,
checking out all of the football players
and picking who we would like to ****.

The truth is,
I would give them all up for you.
I would give my whole Friday up.

Fulton tower, our steel queen,
how you make me cry,
love at first sight.

You’re so high; fresh and standing free,
innocent, but we know your roots.

Black ashes polluting the street, debris clouds,
Those willing to jump. Those willing to die.
Those willing to take others’ lives for pride.
Those who didn’t have the choice.

Fulton tower, I cry. It’s hard
to embrace your beauty
while remembering the past.

I am the spontaneous lover.

When my man and I decide to go on a road trip,
I will suddenly, while we're flying eighty on the highway,
tell him to turn off and park the car.

I am the spontaneous lover.

Without being too guarded,
with my afraid-to-love-too-hard heart,
I won't think about the fact
that the scene isn't scenic;
we will be parked by a rusty guardrail.

I am the spontaneous lover.

And although the car will be turned off and parked,
he won't be turned off for too long or parked
in that driver's seat.

I am the spontaneous lover.

I will unlatch my seatbelt.
I will lean over first.

I am the spontaneous lover.

Our heartbeats will go eighty.
Sparks will be flying.

I am the spontaneous lover.

I will drive my lips all around his lips
like our road trip.

“If you want to learn about me,
I will share most of everything.

If you don’t share that you care to learn,
I will believe that you care to learn nothing.

And I won’t share anything let alone everything
to someone who doesn’t care to learn.”

i might fall

for your blue eyes
because i've always had a thing
for guys with blue eyes.

for your strange hair
that goes from ***** to
"gingy" from your scalp
to your stubble,
which i also like
when it's lightly
caressed across my
lower neck.

for your basic style
that says "like me or don't, whatever,"
well I like you even though
i'm usually drawn to your standard ****
or the boy whose parents
took him to hilton head at least
once every summer.

for the way you snore because
i can't stand snoring. my dad's
snoring was like a freight train
slamming into my ear tunnel
every night as a child because
it echoed through the house,
but for some reason, some snores
just don't bother me; they're
comforting, and for some reason,
yours is one of those snores.


for the way you say that you
laugh for no reason, and i always
say "what?" and instead of answering me,
which always annoys me,
you just keep on laughing, and
smiling.

and don't get me even started on that smile,
or even more so, those lips, luscious, thick,
and very good at making it's way
around my entire body, spending time on every
inch, finger, and bone in my hips.

you're quite amazing even though
you're still quite a mystery.
yet, i might not know everything,
quite frankly i don't,
but i know that i might fall.





quite frankly, that's a bit of an understatement.
i'm falling already,
and i'll probably fall in love.

you can pretend like it doesn't
because you've never
really done "love,"
but it all adds up.

don't leave me with a note sheet, a pen, and
painful memories.

because i will.
i will write about you.

even though you may never see it,
and the world may never know it's about you,
you will forever be ingrained with ink,
engraved on the sheet's lines
that you crossed me.

mary jane,
we met last friday.
i had waited so long for you.

mary jane,
it wasn't a party,
but you had me swooning.

i wore my body like a shell
for protection.

but you came through,
caught my attention.

breathe in.
breathe out.
i got this.
breathe in.
breathe out.

mary jane,
you're so cool.

i lost my breath
after tasting you.

but the boy
who brought you to me,
well mary jane,
it just can't be.

cause with his due diligence,
rocked my innocence,
oh it was dangling like a thread.

it was bound to go,
he stole the show,
i want him...

breathe in.
breathe out.
i got this.
breathe in.
breathe out.

i know you've been the light
of his life for so long.
and i waited to taste you
like a long-awaited love song.

but, you and i,
you and him,
are just so wrong.

you may have caught my attention,
but he's the one who will
enjoy my affection.

oh i can't wait to get him home.

Oh my, you are one of a kind.

And if you would not mind, I would like to write and write
right next to you, while you read Clarissa Dalloway's story.

I would like to say that I am more of a Richard,
but I really am more of a Sally, minus the homosexual-ness.
Vivacity could be a substitute for my first, middle, and
last name on most occasions.

Yet, I exceedingly relate to Clarissa's adulation for Peter,
"it was his sayings one remembered; his eyes, his pocket
knife, his smile, his grumpiness and, when millions
of things had utterly vanished – how strange it was! –
a few sayings like this about cabbages,"
barring the pocket knight in exchange for a knit hat or two
that you would wear inside if it was a social norm.

Now as I would write right, my stream of conscious would pour out
like the musings of those about to attend Clarissa's party,
but most will never see my internal conflicts and revelations
because one of those revelations makes me mirror George Eliot.
I blanket most of my verses with a sheet of caution
because even when one's heart is on their sleeve,
that sleeve is a sheet in its own secularity.

As George said, or Mary for those who knew she really was,
"I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved.
I am not sure that you are of the same mind," and every so often
that is why my heart is evident out on my sleeve, and yet
the sleeve is steadfast.

So that is why I propose, if you would not mind,
to let me write and write right next to you,
while you read Clarissa Dalloway's story.

Because, "oh my," that two-word saying that I remember,
as if they are the analogous cabbages of you and I,
you are one of a kind, but so am I;
our minds are more the same than not.

The reality is, if I hosted a party,
I would not invite George, Clarissa, or any others;
I would invite only you, your eyes, your smile, your grumpiness, and your
knit hat, or hats, which I had let you wear inside if you would like,
and we would both read many stories
and write our own story right next to each other.

it’s moments like this
when i’m looking
at all of those *******
pictures.

football games,
dinner dates,
and just
cuddling in
my old bedroom,
do i realize
the truth.

neither i
nor you
came into
this
expecting
what
would
happen.

we knew
it was
possible.

we knew
all stories
had endings,
and we knew
we’d have
an ending,
some, one
day.

but i’m
looking at
these
******* pictures.

are you,
do you
ever do this?

your front,
right tooth
is chipped.

you always
missed
those
little
cheek hairs
that *******
drove me
insane
enough to chew
them up.

i didn’t see
that we
were chewing,
knawing
each other,
us,
apart.

i want
the very
best for
you
because
i *******
love you.

but, the thought
of you in pictures,
******* pictures,
with somebody else
at some football game,
dinner date,
or their childhood
bed where you were the
first or last,
person to cuddle them in,
isn’t something that
sits well with me.

it’s moments like
this when i realize
that despite the
crazy, ****** up,
what happened,
happened,
happens that
happened,
i’d love to take
another picture,
pictures with
you.

i’d be down
for another
football game or thousands.

i’d be down
for mexican,
chinese,
or whatever
dinner we’d be
digging for
that day.

i’d be down for
you to check out
my new place,
my space,
my bed.

i’d be down to cuddle
away what happened.

i’d be down to never
feel like i do in
moments like this
again.