I got nervous before I saw you
Wonder what that means.

Magpie
For dark hair
and light eyes
And rugged charm
But so are they
For red hair and red lips
like baiting crows
With shiny things
Waiting for ravens
with colors in their wings
The play of colors
like dancing flames
Makes all the difference.

I'm entirely made of salt
Over the things you have said
And how confused they have left me
"If this is you cold
Your warmth must have been radiant"
Good luck with your long game
She is so ******* lucky

Of course you take the thing I want
Say here's half
but wait
no here's all
but just out of reach
because he's gonna be responsible
but don't worry
he likes you
he thinks you're attractive
but he knows
it cant be casual
but doesn't that feel great
to know that you could have
but you cant
because of this twist of fate

I feel the wanting
as you are haunting...
my lustful, needy...
greedy..
thoughts

I know I really hadn't ought
to think this way
of things to do when down we lay
and about your warm & rugged arms
keeping me from any harm

I'm swallowed by seductive charms
defenseless you're
whispering the sky my name
know of me ...my secret shame
this need...we share?

words said kerning
we're bothered,
....yearning
I  am bare
for you..
I feel a need to share with you
could we face
  our darkness together?

on gloomy tides of stormy weather
is written on the Dead Sea Scrolls
a love of two who seem the same,
shared in us our
heart and souls?
I have wandered far looking...

So should we
take a chance and try
instead of always wondering why?
would we
be any good for one another
a raging fire burning
unwanted things unlearning
Could we
find of pure desire
light the lovers hottest fires?

or flames go out we tamper,
smother?
left smoldering
shouldering our way,
and left...
we never learned
ready to rise
and ready to
.....be BURNED?

Cherie Nolan © 2016

You know how people say they love poetry? How they can quote the classics and elicit a response of admiration from those surrounding them? I can quote very little poetry. I know so few lines by heart. But I love poetry in that I could bury myself in it. And despite that some of my own words fall flat on the paper, I love the play of the lines. Poetry is the cure for the sadness in muly soul. Good writing is better than alcohol and I like to drink in both. I watch him smoke his cigarettes, a few a day. The way he lazily holds them in fingers and lips. I rarely smoke, but I hold words in that same lazy way and with that same desperate need. I wrote these words long ago... but something in you has woken my soul.

Nothing reminds me of you,
you never leave my mind.