romance is giving me the last bite of your sandwich even though it's the best part with the cheese running down the sides
romance is holding the door for me when your arms are full of books and papers
romance is playing with my ***** hair when i haven't showered in days because you know i love it
romance is patiently holding water to my lips when i'm too drunk to keep my hand steady
romance is giving me your last cigarette when i've had a long day, even though i know you won't be able to scrape together change for a new pack
romance is asking me to marry you with a key ring because that's all we have the money for because we're young and crazy
romance is sitting in the back of the car laughing at nothing because our eyes get so squinty when we're ******
romance is leaving what you're doing to come pick me up when i called you crying for no reason
romance is holding my hand and my head and my heart in silence when i can't find the words to express the chaos inside my own mind
romance is listening to me ramble about the same old ****, and caring just as much as when i told you the first time
romance is the way you smile when i'm sad, the way you cradle my head in your neck, the way you kiss me on the nose, the way you text me good morning and goodnight every day, the way you tell me you love me and mean it
romance is you, and me, together

Rains, rains they come
beating on ground
to let it in.
Flying through air
to reach a place
where joining with others
is inevitable.

They come from
greying cloud
that once were white.
They drift with wind
as if each carry a rainbow
waiting to connect to hillsides
so it may shine.

Raindrops come like little tokens
paving the way
to aid flowers ready to drink,
and umbrellas ready to open.

They come in droves
as if little herds
trying to reach a mating place
inside calm waters.

Rains, oh Rains,
a construct of Nature perhaps,
but think again.
With technology
its hard to tell.

Hard, as the Cabal
have their plans,
and are ruthless
with thunderous power
that must be stopped.
Stopped so our own
rainbows in heart can shine.

StarBG © 2017

"where night is....a violet bird stretching drowsy wings"

i.

night, strange bird of metal,
sinking like a sea whose tide
drifts out, down through the
sky, wild honey and flowerbeds
full of stars.

ii.

i dream of you, revealing
everything of me, i am nuts
and bolts, i am sweet and
sour, i carve my name
on your wrist where the blue
snake rests its head.

iii.

my breath is fire and flowers,
longing, a song forgotten in
the mist, crazy day, bitter and
sweet night, shadow steed of
a circular world.

iv.

kiss me, sweet love,
my skin aches for
your touch like a night
flower twisting petals
on the wind, in love
with your love.

v.

rise like a ghost and
sweep me away, the
burning dust of my
ribs, my very last kiss.

Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
  Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
  Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
  Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,
  Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.

If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,
  Or the Nine be dispos’d from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
  And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
  Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
  Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
  Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
  What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
  From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
  And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.