Love is a verb.
An action so intense that it scalds the tongue and makes those 3 words difficult to say.
And with each broken heart, scar tissue builds up along the pallet and makes it even more difficult to say.
And the taste buds start to singe and the words taste bitter.
And then a new love comes along.
And her kisses are the aloe that opens up the vowels and consonants of the heart, and allow me to speak softly and concisely, until I am able to sing.

SHe saves her kisses for when her heart jumps.
She straddles my lap when she needs to be heard.
She has 13 different smiles that range from “that was a terrible joke” to “I love this freaking dog” to “I love you”
She covers her eye like a pirate to nail a bullseye.
She loves Fleetwood and blues brothers and wonderland avenue.
Her kisses can be apologies or declarations of love. They can be quick pecks or longed for desires.
I can read the words tattooed on her tongue without her ever having to speak them.
This seems to work out well for both of us.

A Friday night in silence.
My mind races a hundred miles an hour.
Solitary confinement is the most dangerous thing to me.
I will either use it to destroy my world, or yours.

I'm not good at sitting still.
I die with stagnation.
On these nights, I drink til I can sleep,
or stay amped until I collapse.
I don't know how to shut down.

That's the same thing that keeps me going on the good days.

You came to me 12 years ago as I was laying in a gutter.
You stuck out your hand and said your name was Joe.
Your hand was neither cold nor clammy, like they say.
It welcomed me, without a second glance.
You've been with me throughout the years, in many forms.
You come to me in my dreams, and conquer my nightmares.
You came to me outside a bar, and took my finger off the trigger.
You came to me in Louisiana and whispered that "Everything Will Be Okay".
Then you told me to "run".
And run I did.
I haven't been back since, yet you remain beside me.

You are the calm in my rage.
You are the glint in my blank stare.
You temper my anger and chart a course for my wrath.

You came to me in my sleep once, and told me its okay to cut a man's finger off, as long as its not his trigger finger.
You do not take away another mans right for vengeance.
This is a form of respect, for as long as he has his rights, and I have mine, then we can both talk civilly.
Thieves however, are never afforded respect.

I've asked you for what I wanted, but you only give me what I need.
We both understand that if I want anything more, I have to take it.
And when I make a plan, and that smile creases my face, I know that's your smile.

I can feel you looking out from behind my eyes when the ******* hits.
I can taste you in my kisses when I bite.
we are one and the same being, but you know so much more than I ever can.

I learned patience when you locked me up.
I learned temperance when you released me.
You taught how to to hit someone with a claw hammer.
And you taught me how to stop.
You taught me that you don't need safe words when you understand each other.

You are always with me.
Your cloak kept me warm when I lived on the street.
Your hands give me strength, when they guide my own.
And yet, I can offer you nothing.

I can't offer you my life, because it's yours any day you want it.
I can't offer you my soul, because its been yours for over a decade.
I can't offer you fear, because I find comfort in knowing you will be there at the end.
I can only offer you loyalty.
And return it to my family in kind.

Writers block isn't always writers block.
Sometimes you just have nothing to say.
Or no one worth saying things too.
Sometimes it's a plan that no one can see the forest for the trees and you just need to zip up your mouth and let it all come together at the end for them like some brilliant film they're seeing for the first time.
The kind that requires a second viewing.
Some of them have called me a psychopath.
Some have called me a genius.
I think it's too early to add up the score.

"Carpe Diem *******!"
It's the Latin battle cry version of the YOLO generation.
The Abbreviation Generation.
The "I don't have time to explain **** to you because I'm trying to just focus on my art right now mom" generation.

Carpe. *******. Diem.
And you have no clue.
Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero
"Seize the day! Trusting as little as possible in the future."
It means doing everything you need to do to achieve everything you want to get done.  
Not jumping your bike off a roof into a pool ya *******.

Or how about...

Blood is thicker than water.
What kind of guilt trip are you riding along on? And who taught you that?
That family is more important than....than....than what?  The bunch of water sandwiches you hang out with and call friends?
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
Means the family you choose is greater than the one you are born into.
As in blood brothers.
In war.
In the streets.
In love.
Love....like a gentleman.
A gentleman with a top coat and a hat.
The kind of gentleman who holds the doors and walks on the street side when accompanying a lady.
Why does he do this?
What makes this gentlemanly??
Because back in the days of olde, before indoor plumbing and sanitation services, we woke in the mornings and threw our buckets of **** out the window.
Into the street.
And before the automobile those heavy footed horses carried the wealthiest of them in carriages and where would they slop around???
In the street.  
And they would splash literal puddles of **** on whoever was street side.
And when the gentleman arrived at his destination with his buxom lady in tow...he would hand his **** stained coat to the coat check and don his finest finery and proceed with his evening.  
All the while, providing the woman he is escorting with his left arm, so that his sword hand (his right) may be free to defend her honor.

So if you take one thing away from my set young pupils, let it be this.
Dress your best, eat like kings, fight for honor, and for ***** sake, check your **** stained coat before you go in the restaurant!!
Carole Diem *******!!