Infinite sensations on an endless path, the greatest feeling I wanted to last.
The deepest passion, in the darkest of ways, I brought her to her threshold of pain.
An overwhelming intensity like the deepest ocean so vast, often over far too fast.
Being inside her, feeling her light, embracing her until the start of my refrain.
As we reach the zenith, that moment in time, where she begins to realize, her pleasure is mine.
So while assumptions of two ships on their individual courses, caring little to please the other,
Is actually his inner desire, devoted entirely to her inner delight for as long as she designs.
But as stars disappear and light forces dark to find cover, I realizes I am not yet her lover.
I search for a meaning, a reason, or a sign, that will give me a clue as to the reason for this fate,
Although we merely spent a cycle of the moon, your beauty yet controls me, and makes of me the fool.
But the sun is always shining, greeting your face, as you turn away waving at a quickening rate.
And in the cool of the morning, and like in an out matched duel, she leaves behind the jewel.
   Nevertheless, in the wisest judgment, one can hardly blame her for her barbarous display,
   For she kept the secret, a pivotal point to say, she had another lover, I was merely for the day.

She is so tender, she is so sweet,
What did I do to deserve such a treat.

From the first moment, from the vision of first sight,
I knew I would be writing, about her by the end of the night.

The look of her beauty, her words my delight,
I would give almost anything, to see her again some night.

But it is my shyness, that makes it hard to utter,
"You are unbelievably beautiful, do you have a lover?"

I may be too forward, or too arrogant to say,
I would do anything, to remove clouds from your gloomy day.

I know I seem like a ******, but please don't have a fright,
I merely offer friendship, and maybe to fulfill an appetite.  

I wish I could say in person, what I thought when we first met,
It would be much better, it would have been a time never to forget.

So, just how ugly can you get,
stuck between your tongue and lip,
the rudeness you display,
and viciousness you let slip.

But I am no angel,
even if I harbor the name,
yet, I do not need to be rude to those who under me, remain.

Being the better person,
does not always mean walking away,
it means watching what you say,
and what you verbally ******* think!

If a person takes the time,
to lend what they have to say,
take a moment to listen,
give them the right of way.

But the kindness in my heart,
wants to beat your funking ***,
cause you lack solidarity,
and a single ounce of class.

Because all I see is rudeness,
that you relay your inner heart,
and this makes you the weaker...from the very start.


Rudeness is weakness.....and one day I hope you see,
that due to the way you act,
Love will never be given for free.

I think you should know how broken I feel
How incomplete my life is.
And it seems no matter how hard I try
I never feel like I’m trying at all. I will never be good enough.

*

No! Not good enough. I wonder if I’ll ever find happiness in love. I think that I’ll never be handsome enough for the man of my dreams, I wonder just what it is everybody sees in me, I try my hardest to be how everybody pictures me in their dreams, but I feel like it will never be enough.

*

No! Not good enough. I try to escape my reality into a world of fiction and imaginary deadlines, I feel like I’m leading a limitless life but constantly stopped by the walls of reality which for some reason I just can’t seem to see, the consequences of undermanaged ADD, a fictional disease according to leading scientists in my family but out of my control, honestly. However, that excuse will never be good enough.

**

No! Not good enough. I dance and spin and toss and weave, I exert myself desperately, but these things require bones and muscles, concentration and hustle, these things take time and patience, and I’m trying my best to cover my bases but I’m working off my basic skills, refusing to build atop the talents I was born with, and I know it’s impressive but I’m too stubborn to discover my potential. I know in my heart that I’ll always be stuck at a headstart, and I know in my mind that physical exertion is a waste of time, and I tell myself it simply isn’t enough.

**

No! Not good enough. I stride through practiced steps of one, two, three-and-four, dance instructors always wanting something more, feet on the floor, girl in the air, handle with care, stay in line, always keep time, careful with your dips, and Jake, please don’t dance with your hips. But…my hips don’t lie. So I try and pry at this art, a release torn apart through structure which wasn’t part of the plan, see, I must be a man, though sometimes I stray THAT’S… strictly for play, see, I have to be strong, have to be leaned on, have to be a base, have to stay in place, and that’s something I will never be able to do good enough.

***

No! Not good enough. I tentatively go where no man has gone before, if that’s even what I am, for it simply seems it wasn’t adventurous enough for me to be gay, but I had to stray from what was just seeming normal and find a new definition from what I considered to be formal, but there’s something alluring to the concept of twirling in floor length dress, or the beautiful strain of a high heels caress, and sometimes make-up can be more than skin deep, because the feeling of seeing what I’ve always wanted to see is… incredibly heart meltingly fascinating. But society sneers, and leers, and jeers, and I’ll never really hear the cheers for the men who wear skirts and the boys who get hurt because of they’re choices in life, it all ends in strife when a man gets curious, because to society, those choices are never good enough.

****

No! Not goo-

Decorations are up
hung from fishing wire,
fishing for good luck.

There’s Christmas on her neck
and as she stretches out in front of me
a wake of cinnamon decks the halls.

It remains and lingers,
falls away past nostrils and
turns to festive well-wishes.

The market is in full swing
wrapped up tight in large scarves,
like a low cut sling cradling the cold.

Winter has the streets in its hold,
the wind is sour, bitter to taste,
and punters, commuters, Asian lost-tourists walk in haste.

Shop floors are warmed by radiators
hung above their wide open doors:
let the heat out, let the customers in.

And when the mid-November light dims
and the council gets past the
everlasting electrical admin,

streetlamp sticks will light and spark,
sending effulgent embers down onto
the Cambridge cobbles.

Children will peer wide eyed into windows
remembering names for their lists,
hoping to unwrap them as gifts later on down the line.

Adults, some probable parents and others newly-wed together,
enjoy the festivities, the weather, the bespoke crafts
bought from Argos sold as Handmade Swedish Chairs

And do they care? No.
It’s Christmas in Cambridge and
winter is settling in.

a bird, you are, a crane- dancer of birds, you are
the bend and shape, the s t  r   e    t c h   e    s your neck makes- you are
all that collapses and alters me. But this is not about me---
                            this is not about how beautiful you are---
a predator can fall in love with (you are) the prey
and when you are captured beneath my hands, I often can't tell
if you are fluttering against them or if I am trembling at the thought
of crushing- you are: carnivore and quarry
                            game and hunter
                                    killer and ****
                                    love and hate, you are, doing things things things so many things, to me
you are, feather falls and grace white tickling the calloused skin stone
  where I ruffle the tufts of your neck, that I long to break---
                                    ---though this isn't true.

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Sometimes,
I open my mouth,
And you come out,
All of my teeth follow you,
Sometimes,
I turn my eyes,
And I see a picture of you
My heart sleeps in my stomach,
Sometimes,
I wake up,
And all of my fingers just fall off