Lust interweaves the fingertips of it's lover. Dragging across the skin in peculiar form to rest it's fingernails upon a scar. A wish is released from it's lips saturated with a glimmer of comprehension. A resting palm upon the scar. Desire is the muscle below it.

I don't know where to start









I couldn't express the beats of my heart








Sorry if I couldn't say it in person








I will just surely stutter, so pardon













I will just make it simple.









I love you, that's all.










I'm not hoping for "I love you too"







But if perhaps you do...








just please







Take me to Paris.

A white porcelain
Porcupine

Sits atop
The stool

Beside a resting
Toilet and silent sink

Drains are clogged
Must be the fog

Airing up
Inside the room

Thick and heavy
Full of cream

Like a hot
French Pastry

Soap melts
Into a fine cappuccino

Skin is soft
Not smooth

Rugged
Tired of the water's touch

Lips separated
Leaking drool

An earlier soft drink
Makes its appearance

Sake makes my soul
Gold and sublime

A snowball I received
To the face

Magical cocktail
Island tragedy

In Paris
Couped up

Stuck in a bathroom
Head bobbing

Up
And Down

Swaying
Side to side

Direction unchosen
Ears sweetened

By a tranquil
Heavenly sound

A song
Heartfelt poem

Layne's voice
Shouting from the void

Guitar strings
Beats of a drum

Native quotas
Unremembered

Just peace
No hate

Possible gain
***** to be given

Snowflakes
Fall upon my brow

Hissing in the heat
Chilling a man-made sea

Fingers tingle
Fabricating a jingle

Eyes swell
Blochted art on the walls

Feet numb
Deciding to stick around

Like a sore gum
Withered with gin

My armor
Solid arms

Continue to fall
Down with my divinity

I am Lucifer
Shining meteor of false hope

Chest heaves
I begin to grieve

Hope for a dawn
Pray to hear a new song

But here he comes
I am bleeding

Shaken by the storm
Overcome

Laughter
And crying

This means
I am dying

But,
Is the time right?

Her heart was a secret garden
With walls to dwarf the Eiffel Tower
Mine, on the other hand, was a pebble on the beach
Completely open and natural
Her body was an oasis awarded to the worthy traveler
Displayed in the Louvre with the lights angled just so
Mine, on the other hand, was a cave on a mountain
Privacy’s abode, enclosed with ancient stone armor.
It was just the two of us alone in a hotel room
With Paris, France peering in on us.
She was the best friend I’d been yearning for,
The lover my childhood crush could never have been,
The sister who showed me how to understand myself,
And she was the girlfriend I was never brave enough to imagine.

Sophie sits quietly, soaking in the sounds.
This Jazz club suits her perfectly,
As she swallows spirituous rounds.
The music is hot, with Latin-flair, and
Pulsing, staccato, percussive drive.
The air on her shoulders is moist
In this Parisian summer jive.
Sophie tastes the twilight culture,
She lives for the buzz.
She won't accept the ordinary, she
Vibrates with bohemian blood!
She loves her music live in her
Sultry summer jive.