I am so in love with you
It hurts to think about not having you
I want more than anything for you to be mine
Because I am already yours
I think I always will be
I love you so much
I want to hold you and tell you I love you
I want to hold your hand
I want to kiss you all over
I want to come home to you
I want to wake up to your touch
I want to know that I am yours
I want to not be afraid of loving you
I want to be certain of you
I want to hope with you
I want to tell you about my day
I want you to tell me how you feel

for the darkest days
I will inhale and prepare.
I will kneel down.
shivering, ready to learn.

for the darkest days
I will ride the waves.
I will allow my board to coast.
motion sickness, always close.

the darkest days are upon us,
up here,
we hold tight towards the
******.
some plants rest,
others prepare to seed
or feed.
spring greens being
nutritionally keen,
proving
global hunger is make believe.
dandelions grow when
the reserves usually sour.
or right through the winter.
always on time, either.

through theses hours
I tap in, hit send and
the download begins… … …
patient now,

I'm the blood
Inside her vein's;
In love, O' love,
Madly insane.
Pouring down
Like sensual rain;
I'm the blood
Inside her vein's.
I feedeth her heart
Into her soul,
I enter in silver
She cometh out
Gold; I'm the blood
Inside her vein's,
Inside her mouth
I swirl again, tis
I'm the love inside
Her head, I enter
On in, angelic
sentient; tis
I'm the spirit
Inside her chalice,
She drinketh me, over-
Taketh me by her
Asian palace: im the
Blood inside her vein's,
I'm vital, I'm living,
Once again; I'm the king
Inside her dream's, inside her chamber, tis do I sleep.
I'm the blood inside her vein's, and O' how sweet doth her plasma taste. Tis I'm the blood inside her vein's........



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated

You go by
your middle name
because your first
"doesn't fit you",
and it's as if
the second you were
brought into this world,
a part of you already
felt like you didn't belong
with the rest of us.

-k.w//your middle name

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

Upon thine eyes i see thee
There be breath in thou lungs
Blood flows in thou veins
A beat from within thy chest
Hath thee waited under the great oak?
For thy hath waited under stars at night
Doth thee reach out?
Echoing calls of thy name in the wind
Thy tears yearn for thou warmth
But alas the cold air kisses thyself
The darkness awakens thy senses
For thy hath felt thee when lonely tears do shed

clouds more
intense in their
deep questionings,

the sky blossoms
like an early rose,  

the earth takes a deep breath
mourns for the brightest stars,

the moon gathers
mirrorings and soft
icicles, dreams of summer’s
thin feathery wings.

as life will have it
some are explicit poems
while others are implicit ones
When you sigh and shake your head
and when you pace the tired floor
and steadily approach  that door
to the hatch that ushers you into a tango
you're quite obviously a vivid poem
with a rhythm and a diction all your own
there is always someone dying to know you
when you brood like an intellectual
and when everything is reality virtual
you're an implicit poem, morose and taciturn
when you paint pictures in weeping colours
and from ubiquitous critics seek no  favours
you're a dirge in e-minor - a veritable lament
that will only go walking when the day may