I have loved more often than I have taken full breaths.
The caverns of my heart that are left
Predating hints of depression that I ward off using the leftover vapors
from tears of pass lovers.
Hiding under the covers with others
To escape responsibility.
Which vice shall I indulge in this time?
The bottle whispers to me when I’m faced with rejection.
It seems that pouring my heart into a shot glass is too much for some women.
They don’t like it straight.
So I pretend to be uninterested on dates.
I have to create the ruse that I have someone else to fallback on.
This is exhausting.
I’ve grown use to being the vacation.
Rarely am I the destination.
Impurities trickle down my neck
As I wonder how I can hold her interest.
The bridge doesn’t easily connect.
As I breathe in her lust.
My lungs begin to fill with regret.
My mind is sleepless
As I rest between the creases of what it is I like about you.
Subtle notes of lavender fill my senses
As we commence to go out on dates in lands to us that are unfamiliar.
Our words and laughter are unfiltered as I exhale into my cup of coffee.
Placing a hand on your leg as you speak our future into existence.
Planting seeds of fortune into my remembrance.
Stitching cloths together from two different tribes.
Painting each others faces with kisses.
Submerging ourselves into each other’s existence.
I miss seeing you exhale in layers.
Painting my skin with every breath you release.
You are the combination of every sweet flavor,
I have ever tasted.
Sticking to the roof of my mouth,
Like a Now and Later.
The equivalent of twisting two Starburst together.
Like the way we twist words that are clever.
Trading humor like Pokemon cards.
You’re the holographic I have been searching for.
I am the vacation.
Not so much the destination,
As I am visited when the leaves have fallen and the trees stand bare.
When the chilled words of winter leave the lips of your lovers.
It is me that you come to when the nights grow long and cold.
My covers are where you find refuge.
And like a shelter I take you in without question.
You hang your coat on my branches and absorb the warmth that I offer.
You water me with intensity and my leaves grow.
Creating a canopy that shields you from the troubles you turn a blind eye to.
I am the rain forest and you’re just a surveyor that was curious of my beauty.
You’ll order bulldozers to destroy me within a fortnight.
The gills in my lungs that are dormant,
I would reawaken.
If it is your love
That I can drink in.
You are the carbon,
Of which my being is based,
If I could say what it is that I adore about you.
It would be your taste.
Your taste in men like me
Is what leaves me stunned.
Where other’s saw hundreds,
You only saw one.
Out of old scars,
As you unraveled my mind.
Playing your guitar.
My smile was covered,
By the afro you maintain.
After I kissed your forehead,
While we stood in the rain.
The right to defend your love is not mine.
Though I will take up arms,
If so ever came the time.
In a misguided attempt to fly without wings he fell to his doom.
Living his life based on the opinion of his peers. He made no room for himself inside his soul. Shoving and constricting. Twisting and bending to fit into the iron box that was constructed by people who didn’t even know his last name. In the day time he played video games and read research about evolution while listening to Herbie Hancock.
At night he roamed the streets while kicking over trashcans filled with his parent’s expectations. Wondering in his mind if they too, were misguided. Howling at the moon like a crazed wolf. Waking up in places unfamiliar. Next to warm bodies that held onto him like he was the last breath that they would ever need. Holding him down like vines over abandoned concrete. His soul waiting on the street sweeper to cleanse the debris.
He laid there; In a catatonic state, wondering.
“Why doesn’t anyone rescue me?”
He is use to being the one that people retreat to.
When the front line is being bombarded by arrows. When the spears strike from a distance that doesn’t allow retaliation.
He stands with his arms extended toward the chaos-
not expecting for anyone to save him.
She worries about her smile,
All the while it reminds me of starlight in the moonlight.
Just as works of art take time to develop
like photographs in a dark room.
She were beautiful before the cocoon,
And she will be after.
Her interest in her inadequacies,
And the probability of her not being enough is a miscalculation,
Of what she can bring to the relation.
And to that I say;
She is the reason my cup runeth over.
I don’t mind being sober while we sit by the fire that grows between us.
Small goodbyes and indulgent hellos,
Becoming entangled as we run our fingers through each others fros.
She is the monarch butterfly who’s design can’t be replicated.
Intricate be design with eyes that leave me sedated.
With banter that is witty and insightful,
The time I spend with her is always delightful.
Organic conversation that is pure,
For the loneliness that I feel-
She is the cure.