Fell heal over heads
          in love with a poet,
  he's mostly a rhyme schemer
       likes Poe and his dark Raven,
  in actuality,  I'd fancy him more if
    he were like Pablo Neruda, but I digress
I'm much accurately fashioned after Emily Dickinson
        chasing heaven's June bugs toing and froing,
we'd meet at a perfectly superfluous coffee shop
    he'll be murmuring elegiac pentameter
I'm simply looking to devour precious words,
    we'd argue about abstract destinations,  
            straight forward persuasions and
               premonitions of wayward ink allusions,
some days I want to claw mine own eyes out
               amid all that nonsensical alliteration
  others, I want to rip out embellishments
                   of his black heart's magnification,
he mutters tumult under his breath,
     states he's abundantly sickly tired of all my
         fanatical froufroutant  flourished fantasies,
albeit, we're mild mannered artistes
         of overstatement and simplification
               thus, we continue laying it on thickly
I, with my hyperbolic cuppa tea and honey,
       he's all brass tacks, no nonsense black coffee
ultimately, we reservedly seek gratification,
      envisioning who functionally makes it first
to a finished line of manifestations's publication,
           in eternity's poetic intentions and beyond

I do not love you in the most common sense of the word.

I do not love you softly with doe eyes and tender kisses.
I do not love you bravely, for there is nothing brave in my actions or words to you.
I do not love you kindly or sweetly, gently or patiently, considerately or reservedly.

I love you like a storm was loosed on my entire being from my first glimpse of you.
I love you like a match loves to be struck, or like a nail loves a hammer.
I love you like a page loves being scarred by the ink of a pen,
and I love you like a pick loves being scraped across old strings over and over again.

I love you violently, and entirely. But, most of all, secretly.

I love you scorchingly and searingly, as if all the pretty words you've ever bestowed upon me were mere kindling.

I love you like an atom must love the universe, a thing by the grace of which it exists, but a thing also which it couldn't possibly ever grasp.

I love you behind my heart and behind my eyes, to shield such a vulnerable thing from the corrosion and harsh grinding of the world.

I love you brokenly, and bitterly, and for always, because I will not admit to loving you at all.

Boulevard royalty mingling with animals in open cages
Instances become signposts for alleged tolerance
But it’s time to go back to the gates of where we’re from
To tell of speculative social forays to an adoring audience

Seamless air pockets provoking thought, constructing
miniature crosses piercing walls where painful paintings were hung
But you decided being a crow was better than being a rooster
There is no difference but black is the color of the song being sung

Passionately significant but intellectually deficient
Sensitive jealousies masquerading polemic tendencies
Dreads worn for life not for the fears of who would notice
An intrusive memory loss was all that could save their enemies

As ludicrous as foot stools for wheels or sleep when morning breaks
Social dynamics treated reservedly by contemporaneous mocking birds
Philistine rounder’s no more or less competent than square faced priests
Believe me, the time we forget is only because we cannot say the words

The story ended before the introduction did because they never met
The pre-text may be questioned but the post mortem changes nothing
The only evil that is selected are outrages that inoculate us from shock
Warm friendliness does not sink the rocky rapids that are no longer asking

Confounding lines of judgment and reckless carriages await their turn
Canon or pulp; equally intriguing depending on which way towards the sun
Systematic folding chairs gaze at danger but in the manner a priest would
He swallows before telling the congregation he is not a man or the one

The reconstruction of peace begins with a soft breeze and earth tones
Necessary or essential, it is all the same for the time it takes to be sane
Within the sacrament principle we beg pain to restrict our movements
Linguistically inexperienced emotionally spent will we ever be the same

Dreams of flying with leaves under wires calmly watching man fall short
Incantation pastoral discovery of what aspect we could never know
Until you feel nothing between lovers except what is written on the heart
The one who walked away will never know the one who told them so