Where the river meanders for the sky’s embrace
Her lovelorn bank pines in the banyan’s shade
Blue ripples sing to soothe her travel’s stress
Lay me when all poems are dead in my head.

Write me an epitaph here rests the river poet
Who loved the cotton clouds mirrored on her breast
As her tides rose high laden with desire’s weight
He broke away from chains to madly sail her crest.

Where shines the moon makes the lover’s pathway
Flows quiet the river in her waves shadows sway
Night heron’s feet kiss her soft feathered bed
Lay me in silence when all poems are dead.

Lay me soft down make for me a space
On her alluvial soil in her riverine grace
In her diurnal shine and night’s saline kiss
The river poet would find his eternal peace.

Dirt brown washes in with roof top shingle gray.
Arms they are , long, slender arms.
Growing out of each, is another arm
and another arm
and another
and another.
Each growing out shorter and more slender.
Each a part of the same being yet,
Each has its’ own mind.
A mind with the same goal.
“GROW”
So delicate these arms are.
Pushed so easily by the wind.
That won't stop them though.
No, they will grow.
They grow and grow and grow.
As they grow the arms will embrace the wind and sway in the most elegant way.
Then when these long slender arm reach their goals end, they will grow again.
They will grow a hand.
A hand with fingers flat and pointed oval shaped.
Unlike the arms the fingers will be green.
A green that is as if a paintbrush mixed a lime and seaweed into one.
Now one day whether the arms know it or not it’s fingers will change.
Its’ fingers will change colors.
Colors of an unorthodox bipolar rainbow.
Then when the colors of the this rainbow reach an end the fingers will fall.
Each and every one will fall, fall,  fall.
That is okay though because the time will come when
those fingers will
GROW
again.

She hides in the dark places
where people will not see,
for she is of the night, a lover
of the darkness but she wishes
to be free.

Wanting to feel it, to touch
what she can see, to glaze
her skin. But to those of the
night the light is not there
companion, it is their demon
that burns them in the light.

Skin a flame when the sun
caresses there naked flesh,
but the craving to be one
with the life giver is to much,
as to those of the darkness it
is the highest of sins.

She wants to feel the warmth,
to feel the caress of heat as it
touches her skin, to feel mortal
not of darkness where no heart
beats within.

Walking in to the light to feel
the heat burn within, the ecstasy
of the sun as it burns the flesh,
but at the last moment a heart
beat felt within. Joy for a moment
as life is felt then to ash she falls,
her darkness burnt away from within.

Hurt me once
Hurt me twice
Leave a scar
Haunt my life

See me fall
See me break
Laugh at what
I cannot take

Make me love and
Grant my wish
Seal it all
With a painful kiss

Emotionally torn
Exhausted, abused
A hazy fog
Perpetually confused

Gone right now
Gone for good
Life played out
The way it should

Yet still you lurk
And steal my breath
Our unknown thoughts
An inevitable death

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

they say opposites attract,
but then,
how are we in contact?
we met in the same hiding place, with walls up to our embrace.
same empty wells on our faces
same invisible threads on our lips
slouched posture
boney hips.
i was a blank canvas of a girl and you were a boy who liked to spill your ink on ****** white pages.
i was painfully boring and you were the ruins after a hurricane.
you had stars for eyes and flames that licked your lips like you were the only wildfire out there and i was nothing but a crack on a sidewalk.
you had every natural disaster dancing on your fingertips and i was dying for you  to touch me.
but your palms only sweat when you daydreamed about kissing me and i was infatuated with your dreamy eyes
you  kept galaxies in your palms just to give me a sense of home every time we held hands.
silly boy hasnt anybody told you death doesnt have a home.
hand in hand we are filthy image to them they try to **** us
but you spill anything about us to anyone that would read
according to you there wasn't any us, ink all over paper yet never any love
they asked you if you ever loved someone you said you never really cared
seems like i was the air you breathed in but coughed out as dust instead.

We are only here to die.
All the blood sweat and tears you put into running your first marathon
That award winning book you wrote that captured the heart of millions of children
All the money that you won from winning the lottery...
Means nothing.
It all means nothing.
All of this...

Means nothing.

We are only here to die.
But it's the preparation that decides
What will happen after life.
The choices that you make in life will decide your fate after life

Which is death.

Dear Lois,
I wish I could be your SuperMan.. but I'm nothing more than a human...working on life...and I don't have the power to give you every thing you want in life...this mortal flesh tho venerable was heaven sent...let me be your angel and fly you to heaven with my finger tips...10 ways to love you
...
1. Always *** late...
What's the fun in being early...when you haven't even gotten there yet!
Shoot we can always come together...
2. Own stress *****..
.so that I can relive my stress before I get to you
But strengthen my grip so I'll never loose hold of you.
3.Sing to you....
I know I'm no Marvin Gaye...but I'll never be a Chris brown...but I might just bow wow and hold you down!
Sophisticated like I'll be Nat King Cole...But you might need a little Ruffin cuz your my favorite temptation..
4. Work out...
I gotta stay a fit for you. For Ill never know when I'll need to rescue you...I know you can hold your own but I want to always be able to lift you. No matter how heavy your baggage gets. Be your fantasy with my shirt on and my shirt off..in a crowded room or if it's just us...
5. Eat your cooking...
6. Keep a job even if we're living a dream...
7.Invest into you..
Hold all the bonds in your stock.. place my time in you hands..for I know that you are something worth investing in..cherishing...Be your CEO...run **** when your not around...but listening carefully to your directions so we won't go down...
8. Take you on dates...
Yes McDonald's counts!! Unless your a Vegan then you'll just have to watch me eat...and cook when we get back from the movies...I'll bring some Kale Chips..Show you brand new worlds that we will explore together... keep you on your toes...you ll never know where we're gonna go.
9. Tell you your like wine..
How you intoxicate me...to bliss...sometimes I might get a headache...be hung over...but I'll run right back to you...how you age so well that I look forward to enjoying you years later...I'll spend a lot on you..keep you well preserved and I'll sip you smell you enjoy you...mine mine mine...
10. Create Love with you...
As we right our own definitions...on canvases...of paper..hallways...bedrooms... car seats...PTA meeting...church pews...Classrooms...amusement parks...bowling alleys...Movie theaters...and Skin....
History between an man and his woman....

But remember Im not no Superman but I will do my best to be the best that I can...

Love,
Clark Kent.