After the faint grazing of my arm by your unaware fingers,
The candle was lit and it ignited its cage.
Famished, the flames unfettered the bounds
Consumed every fiber of self-doubt
My heart fell into the smoldering ash
Gazed above at the fiery mass
And sighed.

Paint Me a Picture

Paint me a picture
With fiery red clashing with sentimental blue
With groovy orange dancing with golden yellow
With hidden messages etched in the pigment

Paint me a picture
Where lamentation of the ****** is naught
Where trumpets announce the coming of conviviality
Where the background is illuminated with fierce fireworks

Paint me a picture

As you gazed across the room,
My eyes caught your lingering stare,
To a woman who was not me,
Both not seeing, unaware.

Like a giddy school boy, I watched,
As she asked about your day,
Standing in disbelief,
Sensing this was wrong in every way.

My stomach hit the floor that day,
Followed closely by my heart,
Sadly not realizing,
This was only just the start.

Never enough, too much,
Imperfect in every way,
Wanting to run, scream, hide,
Like a coward, I choose only to stay.

Birthdays uncelebrated,
No tinsel on the tree,
This union isn't working,
The fault is always me.

Lousy cook, deplorable housekeeper,
No tiger in bed,
Tears stream down my face,
From words uttered & ones left unsaid.

Listen up 'gentle' men,
This shouldn't come as a surprise,
The true beauty of a woman,
Does not in fact lie between her thighs.

Love her laugh, her heart,
her smile,
Value these things,
& she may just stay awhile.

Don't win her over with baubles & bling,
court her with fancy dinners,
These mean nothing.

Write her a poem,
Leave her a letter,
These are the honey, gold, & nectar.

Moments shared, hands held,
A warm hug, a gentle touch,
These are the things of true value,
These are the things we all want so much.

Forgive me if my honesty
Isn't quite on trend,
But truth be told, what this world need more of,
Isn't lovers,
But ride or die friends.

How has it come to this?
A book once vibrant in cover and fluent in language
Now tattered and dropped into a recycle bin.
I can hear them now,
The many in the landfills and recycle plants
“Judge me not by my remains but by my essence.”
But we discard based on looks and physical holes in plots.
We ignore the beauty of language and character development
For pristine copies of the new
When sometimes
The old would have worked just as well.
A book once vibrant in cover and fluent in being
Now tattered and forgotten.
How has it come to this?

This love is pure,
like a kiss on the cheek in the snow.

This love is exciting,
like the first drop on the roller coaster of life.

This love is bright,
like the meteor shower we watched that night.

But most importantly,
*this love is true.

You are the bags under my eyes
The bruises on my arms
And the cuts on my leg.

You are hour 50 of sleepless torture
8 cups of coffee a day
And another regretted bite.

You are the "I'm fine"
The little fibs that leave my lips
As part of my daily routine.

You are the tornado of thoughts
The flood of blood
And my beautiful nightmare.

This is who you are to me.

Please touch me not 
without touching
my heart and soul