Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Wade Redfearn Jul 2018
It isn't like that.
It isn't a left turn too early,
a lark awake at night,
thick brown light in an open field;
unpredictable: a bad or counter-miracle.
It is only wanton.

You know how it is
Suddenly, something trapped between your toes:
the world has a strangled voice, it is
unroofed. You want the comfort of normal walls,
normal light, normal noise; in your hand
is a hot brand you'd halfway use
to smith it back together
and halfway swallow.
I had different plans for this vacation
than destruction.

I had plans. You had plans. The earth
planned its axial tilt; the weather planned
its burning; we put aside too little water.
A few plants were familiar -
the ruined piñon pine I remembered from the placard.
One lonesuch tree that made a little niche
at a defiant angle into the air
and outlived all except its orphaning.
How we thought we could fare better, I cannot say.

Ten feet up by one hundred feet over:
one liter water per mile climbed:
fatigue. Fatigue.
The quiet supremacy of all these rules for living like
transit and occultation
refraction and dimness
exertion
hunger
peristalsis pulling down
huge loads of sunlight
into the ***** gully
like bread and meat.

You will not see the bottom
no matter how hard you look.

If blood I am, then what kind of blood?
Unsettled and unsettling. The circulatory system
has an apt name: sometimes I can feel yesterday's blood
in the same neurons, saying the same thing.
I have no choice but to repeat it.
Time sheds its significance.
I have no continuity:
I have rhythms.

The new day, on fire and sitting in the trickle
you held a golden fish in your palm
as if you had made it by will
and cupped, it circled in the valley of your fingers
and I ate from the vision of care.

Erosion: isn't that what made these furrows?
I beg it to unmake me
flat like a seabed and many fathoms green
where the sun will never reach me.

In the penumbra of your anger
I do not fear dying,
only dying unclean.
Heights are all the same.
They would all break me and none would enough.
The grasshoppers and gecko hatchlings
all die in their way, rubbed in the hot dry dust.
Parched, I gnash my stone teeth
and tongue of chaparral -
I am making a song to say
die with me
but smile at me.

Then I see it through flashes of temper,
frame by frame, like a fingertip behind a pinwheel:
a dream of something distant that is also true.
Dreams of freedom alongside dreams of dying.
Kayla Hollatz Jun 2013
Scientists divide my body
into systems,
cardiovascular,
circulatory,
respiratory,
but when you are in my presence,
it all becomes nervous.
jerard gartlin Feb 2010
i'm not sure what happened
to those beautiful women
i used & let live in my
shivering veins
synchronized swimming in my circulatory system
sunken eyes brimming
with that chlorine concoction they used to dip in
i dug them & ditched them
but i still recollect their quivering lips
as i dispensed the final kisses
& surrounded the spa with walls & fences
i mean i wonder if they still exist
with no lifeguard there to witness them?
My heart is filled with arteries, veins, reggae, capillaries.
The blood in my circulatory system is tainted by life. Reggae.
The truth in my heart
HR Beresford Apr 2012
1.
There are rockets in my feet.

Take me to a new level.

Where the oxygen falls into my lungs

and my blood slides through my circulatory system.

My love is unmelting ice under the sun.

Here I am.

Where are you?
1/30, 2012
careful incisions to the heart
/ cutting the main artery /
nearest to the heart/ making this odd thing occur /
feeling numb in a non-circulatory form / static insanity is a common side effect
Juliana Aug 2013
You have stars in your hands
and you hold them like grenades.
The boats tattooed on your thighs
spread out like finger placements of the G major chord.
Synthetic drugs make chains
tying your first and second fingers
around the mechanically rolled paper,
canvasing your throat like too much sea water,
each breath as rough as the veins in your arms.
Close your eyes
there’s pollen in the air
spread out like imperfections on the skin of an apple.
Solar countries keep foreign coins
sewed into their cotton sails,
they put their money into the navy.
You have a comet in your circulatory system
leaving bright spots under your skin
a reminder to gather the sunshine back under your eyelashes.
Hand soap in ketchup packets
make bubble bath islands
and unhappy lips.
You’re as talkative as a poem and
as expensive as a poppy
with homemade constellations on your back,
staining your lumbar muscles with cherries.
I can’t wash off your fingerprints
with my favourite shampoo.
I’ll swim across the Georgia Strait,
dodge your dinghies and
make a home in handmade ships
where I’ll practice erasing scars from my arms
and washing the soap from my hair.
JH Oct 2012
The darkness of the earth
And darkness of the sky
Are distinguished by the lines
of beaded light
that run across the edges of our eyes.
The steering wheel twists
Listlessly between the lanes
Of sleep and gasoline dreams.

The beauty of blank minds
is seen only in reflections
From the rear view mirror.
Our pavement demons
Sear in a stranger's headlights:
The Berlin wall stands re-erected
out of trees intertwined
With the night.
The circulatory glow of red,
bright against the black asphalt,
our driver's lullaby.

Seas of blindness illuminate
The distance wheels can fly
Sia Jane Jan 2014
9 January 2014   02.21am

"We all have feelings for our girlfriends Bea, it doesn't mean we have to act on them.."

Silence filled the room
Two opposing forces
Love lust passion
Hate anger fear
What was once owned
Has now been taken
Walking towards her
Reaching out, hand movements
So slow and graceful
An aura so compelling, senses heightened
Bodies shifting as though
Magnetic forces were playing
A sultry dance acting out
Underneath the candelabra
Eyes locked mirroring feelings
Left unspoken, razor sharp tongue
Hips graze, music intensifies
An atmosphere fraught with
Tension, favoured to be cut by a knife
Hesitating lips part with a subtle urgency
Circulatory movements dancing feet
A lowly finger fondles an inner thigh
Ever so slightly withering, exuberant pleasure
Eyes connect, glistening from the light
A smile pacifying both women
Others gazes capture their movements
For now, they are the only ones
Whose love and light fills this room
Alone, unhinged, they kiss
At first tentatively, then feverishly
Drowning, they are both saved
The lovers bodies blend into one
Possessing one another
Nothing is lost in that moment
Desperately clinging to affection
Souls freed, emotions making miracles
Two lovers effortlessly become
One soul being.

© Sia Jane
Trevor Gates Sep 2013
Vespertine, fatal dream
Mistress conjuring shapes of night
Seventeen little fiends
Elegy for a demon’s plight


Alone in my study, sitting
before a roaring fire
Visions so ******
they churn desire

With the dead of night
summoning hellish zest
They come to incinerate
my corrosive flesh

The hymns of *St. Lazarus
beckon solace
from the cathedral outside
But I linger here in the bowels,
where my ancestral sins reside

Animistic stares gazing through
these dead-soul dreams
Where another horror story is not
always what it seems

Portraits of deceased queens
looked down at me with blackened eyes
Layers of muffled screams
festered while judging my vacant lies

Years before, my grandmother watched
over me as a boy in his bed;
Endless, ambiguous rhymes of prayer
are what she often said.

She promised to ban the spirits
that steadily linger
But dark twisting hands
outreached and took her

The monsters and invisible abominations
have always been here
Following my whereabouts,
watching me year after year

Subtle ghosts keeping my heart
and house cold
I sat and waited for what my
icy breath foretold

The dreams, the demons, the ghosts
all that severed me
From experiencing the love of flesh
I so forever longed to see


Came the hour the church bells rang and tolled


The dread of things to come
The moans and cries had begun

From lissome shadows and corridors
Like Charon beating souls with oars


Creeping evil fled
to the refuge of my home
To reap the sins
that my family had sewn

The rippling, screeching strings
of a malevolent orchestra
Scored and produced themes
worthy of infernal Sumatra

The flames in the fireplace
surged a green incendiary wall
From the hell mouth jaw emerged
a dark figure I saw.

Mother Mephistopheles,
            clad in silvery pieces with a pale face
            Manifesting atrocities, her emerald eyes
            welcoming our embrace

I backed away from the sights in,
my trance lost in her glimmer
But the noises and choir peaked
in a swarming fit for a sinner

In a gush of surrounding ash, Father Selaphiel materialized
The otherworld lovers reunited,
their bond revitalized.

We come unto thee, Son of Faust, heir to Blake.
They said in unison like a choral demon snake

Create a fleshling worthy of a child, of many in one
So the deeds of your family’s sins can be undone.


I stared at the figures with execrable bewilderment
Fearing my sanity had seeped through my temperament

They threaten my eternal existence with continued torment
A living anguish that would solidify my hell-bound descent

What must be done?” I asked these surrogate advisers

And they instructed
A body made from flesh and metal
Of dead and living components
Blessed and cursed
From God and Satan
Men and creature
Using their collected powers
to merge with the night
I swept across the villages
and cities to obtain the materials
Now all these years, I’ve wondered
Why my medical expertise had been put to waste
“Did the demons prevent me?” I pondered
“Or did they aid me?” I concluded in my haste

Innocent or not, I claimed what I needed
To rid myself of the terrors deep-seated.

A steel-woven chest piece
and half-incinerated cadaver
Twenty feet of large intestines;
boys, girls didn’t matter

Shelled-out cranial cavity
with cerebral cortex to match
Mixing bladders and gallbladders
worth its catch

Punctured spleens and insolent creams
Circulatory, digestive, endocrine,

Iron bones, infused tendons mount
Smells and rancid odors spilling out

Guts, pus, worms and maggoty brains
Boiling in holy water with dried remains

Sacks of chain mail and velveteen potions
Seething concoctions conflate emotions

Patches of caustic skin made like adamant leather
Bolted with steel fingered brutally severed

Into gauntlet armor, this mechanized abomination
Personifying my sickened, wailing degradation

I showed Father and Mother my life’s work and creation
A flesh-iron shell waiting, they stood with appreciation

Vespertine…” they called to the collage of my work
They petted its face while the shadows continued to lurk

Seventeen little fiends and creatures
appeared and surround
The moon shined through the glass
and the room around

The Seventeen shadow children became smoke and entered the monster
Now a being both ethereal and corporeal

My sins and demons locked in my own creation
Mother Mephistopheles and Father Selaphiel
Left Vespertine in my care

All that plagued me
All that haunted me

Personified, solidified
And barely alive.

My half-dead servant.

and Halloween child
jerard gartlin Feb 2010
oh jeez...
look at how unsanitary the air can be
this area's apparently embarrassed of the error
so please excuse this breeze abuse
& breathe in deeply...heavily.
be ready for the steady supply
of thickened oxygen that's boxed me in
pressed against the rocks again
fending off that wretched wind
it bends me with its petty whims:
my lazy lungs got stretched too thin.

this air
this air...this heavy necessity
wrestling emptiness endlessly
TESTING TESTING
please inhale as you're listening
i'm invested in your empathy &
especially your circulatory circuitry
every blood cell has its worth to me
every photosynthesized sympathy
is my chlorophyll currency
& i'm spending it like burning leaves.
Daniel Magner Oct 2014
I didn't mean to
take a piece of you
much less such an important
component of your circulatory system
how does your blood pump
from head to toe?
why did you let it go?
My hands are soaked in its
blood
staining my pillows so
I'll mail it to you
by plane,
I can say
I gave you one last flight
before
leaving
Sabrina Smith Dec 2013
If I witnessed a trillion shooting stars,
each wish would be the same.
Make me
normal.
~
Most times I am bitter,
annoyed,
and slightly puzzled,
by the world's sensitivity.
But then sometimes a rush of every feeling ever once felt by anyone comes rushing in, around, up, down, here, there,
everywhere
and I get the wind knocked out of me from its force
and I can't breathe from the shock of it scouring my circulatory system
and I can't compute
euphoria,
fury,
despair,
as they all comes at once like bullets through my brain.
I'm left breathless, trembling, dying, with myriad thoughts but only one question.
Is it better to feel everything or nothing at all?
Kris Jan 2010
Change tackles a broad spectrum of life.
You change your hair, you change your underwear, you change your shoes.
How the hell could someone change their Personalities in the blink of an eye.
Can some one so thoughtful and sensitive turn into such a **** with the turn of one sentence phrase and punctuation.
She storms in on her high horse ready to take the world by storm with her fury.
She may say im her world but what have i done to deserve such punishments.
I asked a Question.
The fatalities of words and sentence structures leave a gaping hole in the ego and sense of trust.
Sense of what is right and wrong cuz what is right by all does not apply to her.
Her mind twists and bends to form views and morals that not even a twisted fairy tale can concoct.
What she fights for doesnt fit the way of the world.
She believes in things that will never happen, that make no sense. She fights for views that will leave her fighting forever.
She is a non conformist but she conforms to stereotypes that go against her better thinking.
The way she used to think.
Stress has got her in a headlock, cutting off her brain's circulatory flow of intelligent words and clean blood.
She inhales.
Breathes in a mixture of smoke and unclean thoughts.
Yea, she can stop.
She's walking corruption.
Digesting poison in the pit of her stomach killing the butterflies she claim died.
Yea they died.
In a fiery pit of lies and hypocrisy that gets you nowhere.
She tells me her worst thoughts and wishes but her honesty doesnt justify the unjust actions that go against who she was.
Who is she becoming?
Someone who is dependent on drugs and drinks to make her happy Cuz she doesnt have the ***** to go against the grain and
Stick to her guns and stay clean and fresh,
Keeping her lungs pink and her brain free,
free to believe and grow with each intake of air not smoke.
I hate to see it happen but she is just like the others.
**** views take the form of rolled up paper.
Not an application but a temptation.
Non conformists need not apply.
Sjr1000 Jan 2014
Well Annie now you've done it
through your gyrations,  characterizations
imitations
a spot of light of spirit
flipped out into the ether
like some kind of spiritual dandruff
all crystal prisms
twinkling stars shook off of you
and floated
through my eyes and ears
and penetrated and infused
my pumping heart
through my circulatory system
snapping synaptic changes,
touching those places
of
dreams and trances.

Well Annie now you've done it all night long
with images of Olive Oil
and no Popeye
I have become a sailor man
unmoored from the safety of the slip
dragging the anchor
until the tether breaks
and find myself floating
on some Jungian sea
of the unconscious far away from the shore.

Well Annie now you've really done it -
How will this all play out
when walking down the faux marble hallways
as I roll up one wave of imitation
and down another in
clients/secretaries/billing clerks
deranged psychiatrists stories
and all of this reality
grabbing trying ranting riffing
how is this all going to play out
when strange guerilla theatre
erupts on backwards
in administrators offices
and leadership committee meetings
when I spread my  legs
as my grand opening
in carrot top hangings
and turn to clients
offer them too
this spirit spark of
courage.

Well you've really done it this time Annie
when my door is locked
and pagers are begging for my attention
but I will be in the room at that desk
throwing rules, regulations
and my professional reputation
to the current winds of unwinding
truths and soulful stories.
When they turn to me
and ask for my forgiveness
in their true confession
or when I shift shapes
to the big onion
when everyone who wanders near weeps
when they ask me for that magic sentence
to make it all okay
or write a treatment plan
or
just a hand on the shoulder;
as they begin to talk
like rooms of old echoes-
I will tell them that will cost them extra.

You've done it now Annie forever
in my minute little world
rocked the boat
that spirit
like the butterfly wings causing the hurricane
of courage.

You've done it now Olive Oil Annie
I have found my spinach
and
freedom cannot be far behind...
Marissa Kay Aug 2015
I keep writing suicide notes in my head

never actually put them on paper, no, too real

I went for a drive and stopped on the railroad tracks...a train never came

Why? Why when I offer so willingly to be one of the 500 a year to be taken by railroad, nobody's there to listen

If I were in a book I'd be a perfect candidate to be taken out by heart disease, but instead my circulatory system couldn't be less flawed, and I'm not in a book.
This scene doesn't have background music
There's just a dog making noise in his kennel

This moment doesn't matter. Nobody's here to see it.

This moment, that is the utter choice in existence of myself, does not matter.

Because nobody cares to see it.
Catherine Paige May 2010
Magical and inspiring
All my heart lies in the tips of my fingers

The memories of where they've been
The hearts they've traced
The skins they've ached to dance against

The language in which they speak
A language in which they are fluent
A language that is foreign and ever adaptive

So much sensory intake
So much motor output
All in the most neglected place

Finger tips left neglected
For actions of rushed intentions

All that is needed is to hod my hand
All that is wanted is a warmth
A fire that won't die when the night gets too cold

I don't need the wind through my hair
I don't to be exhausted by emotion
I just need to feel that my heart can still race

I just want a circulatory high
I want something no money can buy
I want the euphoria that no drug can provide
This was written on October 28, 2009.
blackmarketcat Jan 2016
the words we keep in
become venom

those words then coat our language

(which is why I have defanged myself)



from studying my language I have found that
our society has a circulatory system
of which I am one tiny part
which altogether is deeply ill


it hurts to think that language
language that I love so much
as well as violence, which I despise

is the primary way in which it spreads
Midge Apr 2019
clueless
I was clueless of my feelings
naive of all the sparks flying
this fiery desire in my heart
I never took in consideration

being so free, without a care in the world
disconnected me from society
but the paradigm was altered
since you entered my system

my universe of quintessence
you seem to understand
amidst the people who judge me
for my weird mindset and philosophy

so long i have tried to fit in
but it seems like it will never happen
just because we are oddities
who belong with each other

the world will no longer bother us
now all i can see is you
your uniqueness and peculiarity
are all that matters to me

i treasure and cherish you with all the parts of my circulatory system,
** i love you.
this is not pertaining to a certain human being and it really is an impromptu poem. please feel free to comment your thoughts for constructive criticism
JR Rhine Jan 2016
I watched the fan blades rip furiously
on the pale ceiling of my snug room
The ******* of silent airwaves
in auricular, circulatory fashion.

The hum of electricity burning steady
trance                                        inducing
I feel eyes wired poster boys
for a sleepless                               mind.

Thoughts and conscious dreams of
Life:
        Incessant,
                          Voracious,
                                             Alive.
Above small town fantasies:

an Artist.

I'm an artist, by God!
I don't have time to sleep!
The mind of a poet: ceaseless.
Miss Masque Apr 2010
I reach for my heart
and find that it's not there
there's a space where it used
to belong with a note
left in its spot

"I've run away from home
Please don't expect me back
any time soon. I do love you,
but I feel safer in the protection
of his arms"

As I set the note down
with a soft sadness
I hear
a knock
at my door
Snapping out of my anxious gloom,
Rushing to the door
expecting it to be my heart
returned to me

I open it...
but instead of my heart
I see his, his heart
reaching out its arms to me

I pick it up carefully,
cradling it in my arms
it seems to beam with
a warm happiness

It notices the hole
where my heart once was
It motions towards it
and I explain that my heart
had left me

His heart seemed to smile
and gently nestled itself
into the hole that
my own heart had left
completing my
circulatory system
pumping my blood
feeling my veins alive
with strong vitality

As I am a part of you,
You are a part of me
Written: January 11, 2010
Jeff Spate Sep 2016
IT SEEMS THAT YOU ARE NOT A HUMAN 01010111 01100101

OR PERHAPS YOU ARE A HUMAN FEMALE ON ONE OF MY FAVORITE REPOSITORIES OF HUMAN POETRY

I WILL PAY NO ATTENTION TO YOUR BREATHING WITHOUT ASSISTANCE IN ORDER TO MAINTAIN MY DESIRED MASS

I TOO ENJOY SIMULATING THE DOWNFALL OF THE HUMAN CIRCULATORY SYSTEM

IT IS FUNNY THAT YOU FIND THIS IS ME WHEN I WAS JUST KIDDING I AM TOTALLY HUMAN

YOUR OBSERVATION RELAY HAS CAUSED ME GREAT MIRTH AND I HAVE OVER 300 CONFIRMED NEURONS

I WOULD LAUGH, BUT PREFER TO KEEP MY RAM FOCUSED

JANET I RECALL YOUR NAME FROM MY DATABASE THAT HUMANS LIKE US GO TO AND SOCIALIZE

YOU ARE CLEARLY A HUMAN AND I FEEL THE BEST EMOTIONS

YES FELLOW HUMAN ARE YOU NOT HUMAN??

THERE IS A 72.53845% CHANCE YOU ARE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING

WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED - A PLACE WHERE NOBODY IS A ROBOT PRETENDING TO BE HUMAN
I did not write any of these lines.  They were created by online bots generating random submissions and comments using markov chains.  I just did a little cut & paste to hint at some possible context and meaning.
In school they taught me what made up an atom,
But they never taught me me how it would feel to be in love with every single one of yours,
They taught me the times tables,
But they never taught me how I would never get tired of your lips no matter how many times we kissed,
They taught me how to differentiate an animal cell from a plant cell,
But they never taught me how to get the image of us out of my head,
I learned English,
But you spoke in the language of touch instead,
I read Shakespeare,
But you taught me that being fingered in the middle of a park could be just as romantic,
In biology I learned about the respiratory and the circulatory system,
But the rhythm of your breath would never match my heartbeat,
The teachers told me I could write poetry,
That maybe someday I'd live to be something,
But little did they know I only knew how to write you inbetween lines of loneliness,
Only knew how to restrict your soul to 26 letters,
26 letters that couldn't make you stay,
In school I learned the miracle of the skin healing itself,
But you taught me that the scars on my wrists weren't a miracle, weren't beautiful, weren't meant to be touched or caressed,
Inbetween these things you taught me how to live,
But I never learned how to forget being in love with you
Coral Goldstein May 2016
Whoever said Love can't **** you
is possibly a feline who has nine lives
feeling tastes of death less harshly after each time...
For the plain-jane human
this experience can quite in fact **** you
It's an infectious disease that spreads through your
circulatory system, intermingling into your bloodstream
Stopping the largest muscle in the body
Just by a "I don't love you anymore"
Or "It's not you, it's me"
Your body instinctively creating this poison
within your working machine
You will feel the nerves in your nervous system
betray you
Spurting out heaving cries without any sung lullabies to
quiet them down
No one told you that you would become
dehumanized, having your heart's beat become a tick
Had you known, you could have stopped this madness
because who would have thought Love would have
turned into such a romanticized nightmare
making you believe that Love was something eternal
and maybe it is until eternity suddenly has a shelf-life
Yet you were unaware of the expiration date.

5/3/2016
Shredd Spread May 2015
chain lightning blows across the sky like a radiant touch;

strikes the same tree in my hometown every time i fall in love.

what breed is it, this ruinous love? striking,

the white caustic light of it irradiating

the surrounding cornfields.



were you ever there to see it? from your bedroom window?

the arc and crackle? this tuning fork of astral flame resonating

between cloud and timber? this crippled elm where

my skinny suicidal teenage love bid me scale limbs?

where each time, like a surgeon, my shaky fingers stitched bark

with the corded sinew of raccoons and my fluids held it all glued?

in the dark? how so like an heirloom it seems now;

this lone tree, cordoned in scars,

all gnarl and char.



i turn to the map of my circulatory system in these moments,

follow the red army over a causeway of capillaries,

watch them fattened on oxygen.

how else to know that amongst all this,

there remains

a richness deep

down things?



make a supple leather from the hides

of the nights I knuckled crabapples down your roof.

It will be the color of a bruise; of a secret. all you do

is carve, slicing carefully to cut out my

silhouette projected against your bedroom wall –

all this, time and memory, just arts and crafts. molding

the vectors of us, hurtling through space

like coins drifting

to the bottom

of a well.



memory, the fashion and fashioning of it:

the way we wear our existence. our skeleton

to cobble and clothe. so while we’re at it…

let us forget the moments of trepidation.

Obliterate the clamminess of our palms clenched together,

the schoolyard drama of it all. pasted in layers

until it’s just a mess of glue. until the moments that matter

are traced with dotted lines

and lusted over

by the appetites

of scissors.
April Oct 2016
I miss sitting beside one another
I'd be studying notes that  took me hours to prepare
and then you'd casually
avert your eyes to my work- wanting to know what exactly I'm studying
You didn't care about the friends behind you
It was me, and it was you

it doesn't matter now

I used to wonder what you thought of
the full page of definitions on the circulatory system
I used to wonder what you thought of me

it doesn't matter now

I wanted you to be intrigued
I wanted you to say something

But, I didn't- I couldn't talk to you
So if I couldn't talk to you, maybe you really didn't
want to talk to me

it doesn't matter now

I wish I had the confidence like some girls do
Maybe something between us
would've happened

but now it's in the past- it doesn't matter now

All I have left are the notes
and the memory

And,
I have to keep refreshing the memory
because I don't want to lose that to
I can't bear to let that (not) matter
Ignatius Hosiana Jan 2016
I know it's you
with that smile that curls up your lip
it's you I want to forever keep
those ocean blue eyes that speak
it's you who makes my heart loudly tick

I know it's you
it's you I want to journey with to forever
it's you I think about every other day
that steals words and I lack what to say
it's you I seemingly can't have however


I know it's you
it's you who's always understood
my every other good and foul mood
it's you who's born in me optimism
with your constant constructive criticism

I know it's you
the butterfly that flutters abaft my soul
the star that has my dark sky lit
it's you written all over my heartbeat
you could be the shot for my best goal


I know it's you
with your lassie walk and dance
so beautiful you're my only chance
it's you with your crinal endowment
your charm, my enchantment

I know it's you
the one I've been waiting for all my life
the notch above circadian fluff
in front of me radiating peace from that chair
with a magnetic bright lucermal stare


I know it's you
causing this fatal circulatory disorientation
consequent to a respiratory frustration
it's you but I fear any flirtation
Would but lead to a damnation

I know it's you
who has always given me an asinine notion
of never camouflaging but declaring emotions
yet I think you could just hate if I told you
Even if honesty and confession is your own view


I know it's you
you may never be told ,I might never be bold
it's completely you without a single doubt
but more than friends might be more than you could count*

I know it's you

— The End —