That song played on my favorite tv show and my eyes glued to the screen because it was your favourite band

I opened this book to write about how crazy that was and saw your name written over and over in your own handwriting. Thought about it.

Flipped though my poems I keep mostly secret and noticed that many, many of them were about you

Your name on my clipboard
Your jokes on my papers
Your words on my screen
Your body on my bed
Your body on my body

You

In my head

In
     My
           Heart

You've consumed my life
                 To lose you
                      Is to lose me


And that's why I'm afraid.

How can life be fun
When you're sad in the sun

How can life be fun
When you'd rather just run

How can life be fun
When you know that you're done

How can life be fun

When you're sad in the sun

How can life be fun

I am left lonely
Tired
Whimsical
Lost and
Empty.

I keeping looking for your words
Kind touch
Soft inhale
Hard kiss and
Laughter.

I do not know what to do
With myself
My time
This world
Without you.

It has been four days
Three sleeps
Dreams
Awakenings
Without meaning.

Come home sweetheart

Without you
I am dust
The space between
The last exhale
A forgotten lyric
Road sign that leads to nowhere.

Come home sweetheart.

Will you marry me?
Plus six.
I finally belong
To the dark girl,
With long hair,
On Beacon Street.
And she is mine.
May our hearts beat
As one,
And love define
Our days.

The Moon is ******* awesome.

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.

the answer is a humble

no
humble because its true

a poet is in love
always

and married
before born

and died
before

the first dawn

How would you like to be on top of the cliff?
The one tree
with the best,
loneliest view.