Perspective

The Truth of The Matter Is

 Just friends. Nothing more.
Than the kind of friends who take friendly contact to new levels.
New levels of secrets cramped in closets. In the dark.
The kind of friends who only see each other at night, night clothes not included.
Never as much as the type of friends who chill at a park in the afternoon.
Afternoon delights after school seem so almost innocent in their erotic ignorance.
Almost a game, getting wet was just a bonus.
Secret friends built for one on one time.
Call each other "friends", forcing conversation most times.
Topic always taking a turn for the teasing things "just friends' shouldn't talk about.
Bed-battle buddies, the best kind of friends.
Nothing more than forehead kissing, finger-lacing friends .
Stroke-snuggling fully-clothed, comfortable just holding each other friends.

"Just friends". Nothing more.
The jealousy is just because we care in the fr...

Hearts Don't Hibernate

 The moonlit glow of red leaves in autumn hold ominous beauty beyond compare.
Ten fortnights past
Night sand beaches,
Shivering shorelines in July.
True love appears at the birth of first winter’s frost.
The chill of the outer commences that search for inner warmth
At the hands of another.
Will your affections blow away
When the branches begin to bare their green?
Or flourish with the coming of spring’s flowers?
Thirty days past March,
And God’s tears fall.
One’s of joy for a love that surpassed
Them all.

Just Like Music

 She's just like music.
From a single point she dances melodies with her smile across the lines.
Jumping, twirling, morphing into rhythmic triads.
I play her so sweetly like a kiss on the ear.
Staccato breathes overlap melodic trills,
at a measures rest whispers
"I love you" in 3/4 time changing the tempo of our kisses.
So lightly your voice drifts on my heart.
She's my symphony, my sweet sonata in Eb,
she’s just like music

For You

 Never say that voices fade,
to typical to describe what happens when you enter my line of sight.
Saying that light stops and time rewinds,
just to torture me, delaying your kiss for unnecessary moments,
I cant even explain.
You steal my poetry from the tip of my pen
smiling sweetly,
I have nothing to say.

Rabbit Season

 Dawn breaking on the moment where the chase becomes the hunt

Unleash the heart hounds, sniffing out your love.

Herein this instant I un-clip their leashes,

never again shall our interactions consist of giddy circling around large tree trunks.

Past are the times of our war cries being words no scarier than

"Tag you're it".

That innocence is over and the battle has begun.

The scent of my prey on my brain, you become a coveted trophy.

Nameless bounty.

I've no practical use for this love I subject to my mission statement,

"search and destroy".

If forced to hunt your affections, once captured they'll change hands two times.

First to the taxidermist, second the mounter.

And you'll join the other prized heads of the glorious who were once deer.

What purpose could a beast as glorious as you serve other than to rain regality upon the wilderness?

It'd be  a sha...

Perspective

It;s not as though without your kiss I'd shrivel up and die.

Not only the fact that I's probably fail,

just the fact that I shouldn't try.

It's somehow trespass upon our line in the sand

for me to speak the words that flow from my hands.

It seems as though it'd do such harm

to offer you a taste of the fruit my heart has farmed.

So heavy are these feelings,

though i dare  not make them your burden.

Heavier still is the yearning just to laugh with you,

use your smile to soothe the hurting.

The talk is it's name, and I walk single file.

I alone with my daydreams ever vivid

as mosaic tiles.

You, soul succulent master-crafted mesmerizer leave me falling to no end.

But I'd sooner fall alone than voice my truths and forever lose you as a friend,

Sweet

 Let me hear the colors your
touch whispers so secretly .
I wanna feel your noise.
Make me scream in flavors foregin to my tounge.
Let's write my new favorite song.
I've sculpted pieces that resemble
your voice,
never quite being able to mold your accent.
When read aloud resembles a love poem,
open your eyes its inspiration.
Nothing more than a sketch of the songs I
imagine your hands would sing.
If your lips could dance I think
they'd do ballet.
Graceful with hidden ferocity.
They'd glide about with reagality.
The aeroma of your stare unlike anything of this world.
so appetizing, I salavate at the thought.
You give me words to say,
overly romanticized as they may be.
My muse,
I name thee sweet.

Homeward Bound

 The corner seat on the 2 train
held me tighter than you did.
From 225th to Prospect
it rocked me in the rhythm
we used to make our music to.