One pulls me down in a sea of tenderness
safe gentle lapping waves of love and comfort
so soothing like a warm summer pond in the south
He is my anchor

The other loves me like a wild forbidden passionate rush
an all consuming type of love, making the world disappear
clinging to a life raft in a turbulent sea
He is my storm

Enticing waters with the luminous waves that can tempt the dead from their bed. My soul longs for both. I cannot drift off to peaceful sleep until the waves of desire find their sweet release. A wondrous storm of love in a turbulent sea or a steadfast anchor that has taken hold on a part of me

This is the point I get to time and time again
My fingers pulsate
                   My breathing quickens
                                    My heart tightens
because we just can't let our cynicism go
You see, everyone leaves
It's a fact
And just like the leaves on the deciduous trees
I was never meant to stay

And the more fond I grow of your company
The closer we get to that breaking conclusion
And instinctually
And hopelessly
I hold on for dear life
Because why must things be this way
Why can't our days consist of shy smiles
And matching coffee drinks
And hands held lightly
With your gaze being my favorite morning memory
I crave you

But timing is everything
And no one really gets what they want
It's not like we'll make it out alive, anyway

"What are you saving up for?"
"I don't know.  All I know is everything costs something."
Can't argue that.

Whispered words woven in silk tongue,
Each one softly suffocated and strung.
What was the penalty as each swung
My thoughts were swaying as if hung.

Why would spoken thoughts bleed,
Each one grew inside roots of a ****.
I listened to hear if flowers would seed
But like poison you gladly did  feed.

Why would love turn from us to sour
Could I never regain that blossoming flower
These words scoured my heart in this final hour
But broken shards did all but fall in a tainted shower

If I could
     I'd sing to you
    But I can't
Not since he ripped my throut
             Out.

Writing poetry, for me, is like being naked.
My words are like clothes and I'll let my readers undress them.