What tastes salty?
Obviously potato chips.
Obviously a Californa girls hips.
Your lips after your tears
What tastes sweet?
Obviously the candy shop
Obviously an affair with a cop.
Your kisses in the morning
What tastes refreshing?
Obviously a cup of water.
Obviously a spring from the Alps.
Your skin in the shower.
Move me like the music and the rhythm.
Mold me like the sculptor and the ceramics.
My mistakes I have always shown on the surface,
But yours you have hidden deep beneath the sea.
These little black submarines,
They show in the shallows.
From encased in the hands of the small bird
that sits on your brain stem all day;
a little hope comes of me.
Or at least I muse it would.
I dream of you the whole night through,
and when winter comes I still dream of you.
And when age comes I still dream of you.
And when death comes to you, I still dream of you.
And in death I will come to meet the true you.
Don't take that the wrong way,
no one is behind me to back me up on this,
but you always say I don't know you,
believe me I really try too.
If you ever flew,
I would go with you
and the little birds would carry me through.

Oh wild rose tainted
Someone shining a flashlight on you
searching for your flaws and losses,
and your doing a good job of hiding them.
But your not blooming to your fullest,
staying as a bud wont get you no where.
So the flashlight moves on.
And because you didn't open the spot light goes on.
Your name has its own hidden exclamation point,
and your additude is full of sass and class.
Baby don't let the lies of this world
tear and destruct you.
Let the emptiness of this world
fill you, and show you things
that cant be with out your imagination.
Baby, don't get down by the peoples expectations,
because if you do, your own expectations will go out the window.
Be free little rose,
but don't become lost on your road in freedom.
However, my arms and heart are always open for you.

If our love was a sticky note,
it would be sky blue.
It would have a lot of notes, and stories on it.
It would still have room for more.
It would be still sticky,
and it would be stuck where I could always see it.
It would follow me around like a bad penny.
If our love was a pen,
it would have forever lasting ink.
It would have written this poem.
It would be dark black, and wet
with dripping love.
If our love was a text...
Well, you hate texting so never mind.
If our love was a sticky note though,
It wouldn't burn in the fire,
but it would be able to start one.
Our love, doesn't fade,
and my love for you grows
day by day.
However, our love is not a sticky note,
or a pen,
or a text.
It is much more than that.
It is expressive, and not dismissive.
It is colorful,
and has many stories involved in it.
It is going to have more stories.
It is on my phone, it is in my bed, I can see it everywhere.
It follows me around like a bad penny.
It is everlasting,
and it is as tangible as the perfect poem.
Our love can get dripping wet sometimes,
and it is usually overflowing.
It doesn't give up in the fire of a fight,
But it starts the desire of one.
I don't know how else to say it,
but we will fight the odds, and make the playoffs,
we will go through hard and nice strolls in the park.
Life and love are officially intertwined in
our two bodies.

Uh-Oh... I think it's happening.
These words of deep waters,
they are waving out of my being,
wetting this paper down.
I think it's happening.
These words of shallow air,
they are breezing out of my mind,
cooling this paper down.
I think, IT'S happening.
These ghosts without bed sheets,
they become real and real and real,
goose-bumping my flesh.
What? What is happening?
We fit perfectly together,
Thats whats happening.
These words of cliche phrases,
they are stereotyping my love,
packing it into penmanship on this paper.
I don't care if our love is cliche,
its real.
I don't care if our love is judged,
it holds true.
We can make it through,
If you trust in me, and I in you.
You can't catch me,
But you can dip me,
while we dance this race away.
Waste away time with me,
And something tells me,
we are on to something good.

How come my words never seem vast enough,
to simply tell how my life can uff and puff,
things in life, they are so simple,
and yet I still seem to just pedel,
on by and never look back. But then when I do,
I always regret this feeling of horrible left over dew.

Which way do you fold me?
Sometimes, the love is strong,
and it holds me up,
and gets me in and gets me out.
Sometimes, the love is present,
it runs through the room,
it flows through the days.
Sometimes, the love is gone,
it leaves empty rooms
it comes in unfinished sentences.
Why does it have to be like that?
Why can't things be normal?
Not pretending, not faking.
But maybe some changing,
it would be good.
This cursive is writing on the wall,
This fluent is in languages I can't understand.
Sometimes it seems
you need a walk in closet.
To hang your skeletons in.
But once you hang them,
Leave them. Leave them for me,
Leave them for you,
I dont care how you do it,
Just leave the closet closed forever.
Baby Once in a Blue,
You make me sad.
Yet that sad sometimes spells,
Sad is a long word,
And it means things, some of us
Don't know how to explain.
So, lets try one more time,
Another round, for the couple of the year.
Dithers, and high high Hithers,
they may come and go,
For all I know, I'll be where you are.