He is,
The.

Solitude begs to be near your empty cup of coffee,
on your nightstand.
There is a slight breeze in the air  i imagine and the park
nearby is filled with the trees and laughter of children.
Longing to be under your raggedy sheets,
laughing with you like children do at naughty words.
Believing that my bed is yours,
and your arm rests against mine, awaiting a touch.
I can smell toast burning and i wonder if i am having a stroke,
or whether its you making me breakfast,
in those grey pants i loathe and love so much.
I long for the nights and the days, and the days and the nights,
i long for us to make shadows on the wall,
by the lamp, under the sheets, and projected on the wall.
I want the neighbours to wonder if they should call the police,
and i can hear them now, discussing if someone is being attacked.
There is a glass of water on the floor, by some shoes you kicked off
as you got in, weary from work.
But i can smell you, can i not,
that tense musk from a hard days work,
the sweat of that longing you have,
for me in your eyes, and your heart, and your pants.
I can smell the autumn leaves falling, outside your window,
as i lay whilst you make me some tea,
I can hear a tap dripping in the distance and its annoying me
too much,
but i don't want to get up, because this bed is a bubble from which,
we can't escape, nor do we want to.
Your body is longing and your eyes are heavy with lust,
I can see that its right now, for us to be an us.
I see us talking through the dusk and the dawn about us, life and love,
and we make love inbetween the silent spaces where emotion is too much,
and we need our bodies and each other to ****** the metaphorical longing,
we both have.
And the waiting and wondering of who we are,
is here,
right now,
and all at once, my life seems small without you,
a picture a day doesn't cut it,
a letter from you is an extension of your hand,
but its still not here beside me.
I am in the shower, with the steam rising,
your body caresses the parts that have ached for you for so long,
I can smell shampoo and shaving cream,
I can see the cracks in the wall, and the dirt in the window frame,
and your arms cave round me, as i let the water fall down my face,
and all at once i am home, walking in the rain.
I see us holding hands like we are the only ones in the world,
that can be us, at that moment, and feel the time slip away from the day,
And i am smiling, because it has been so long since i smiled.
And i can smell chalk and clay, and mud and grass,
I grab your hair and pull you back,
so i can see your neck, and watch your artery pulsate in rabid anticipation,
i pull you down to my chest and let you hear,
how my heart beats, in exactly the same synchronisation.
And all my memories are gone and all there is, are thoughts of you,
as i sit here in my bed, wishing the pillow beside me was resting your head,
and, and.......
I count your freckles, and look at the tilt of your nose,
I examine your hands and your knuckles, and see how life has treated you.
I feel your legs brush against mine, in ****** friction, they electrify, me.
Music is playing somewhere, and i cannot concentrate on who i am,
or what i am doing, and why i am here,
and not there.
And its not about the *******, or the kissing, or the expanse of our **** bodies laying waste to the day,
it's about the blue skies, the fields, the sons, the trip to get food
for me to cook you a feast.
And i wear my hair up, and i wrap a towel around me,
and i look at myself in the mirror,
and say,
Goodnight sugar, i'll see you in the morning,
and i lay awake in the day and dream in the night,
and you are my essence of being longed for,
and I am yours, sugar, i am yours.

I know you think,
you're drowning,
But I came to tell you,
Its only a puddle.
Stand up,
You're body needs better,
And your brain needs the oxygen.
Breathe....
Rise...
Weather the storm.

Stretched across me.
Tight against my chest and settled at my lap.
I t  t a k e s  m e  a w a y.
Surrounds me, over my shoulders,
Pushing me back,
against your chest.
I take a d-e-e-p breath........
1,2,3,
Hold me tight,
Help me feel free.
Compressing my heart, it beats, against, yours.
And i want to collapse,
crash hard,
so i can feel you pull me to safety,
I want bruises to remind me I am yours.
Arms across my chest, and around my lap,
You can't see my tears, as they fall in exhalation,
Of feeling your skin, against mine.
Tightly we bond, meshed together,
I push harder, you hold me closer,
I push faster, you hold me tighter,
I stop hard, you encompass me.
And,
If i should have ever, ever, ever,
crash and burn,
I know that you would be, there.
My safety net.
My synchronised heartbeat.
My safety belt.
My seatbelt.
My, You.
Hold me closer, never let me go.
Hold me tighter, and i will feel free.
Hold me, just hold me,
and never let me,
go.

I am not your peppermint fudge.
I will split you in t/wo.
I will vehemently hate not but one, but every single second of you.
And i will cry, boy, i will cry,
over how i let myself be treated, by you.
And what are you,
as you spray your words across my face and into my hair,
who are you to even dare?
I am not your morning afterglow,
I will divide your morals thrice/ly.
I will take your hate and i will console you with pity,
I will be pretty, boy, i will be pretty.
And who are you,
to make life such a toy and play love as it t'was a game,
i look at you with embarrassment and shame.
I am not your cup of evening tea.
I will drive you a/part.
I will look at you a different way, now,
I will take a bow, boy, i will take a bow.
And you are you,
and i am sad for the man you seemed to become,
run home and fetch your steak and your gun.
I am sacrilegiously, done.

I dream of you,
by a white oak tree.
I dream of you, i dream of you, i dream of you.
There is a ribbon tied to the tree.
I don't know the connection, but suddenly it is lost.
You open your mouth and there are words flying through the air,
gaps between your teeth,
pauses in your ribs,
and i still can't see your face.
I dream of you in a white shirt,
beige trousers.
Pretty bland, holding out your hand.
But i am not on the ground, i think you cannot see me,
I am flying up here, my darling,
up where i am free.
I have no tether, i am not portable,
I am free.
I dream of you, i dream of you.
I dream of you where there is no keyboard in my hands.
Where my fingers can touch you,
Where i can connect to you from within and without,
and you can feel my skin to yours.
But there are words floating around me in the air,
I cannot breathe,
I am scared.
I dream of you.
Silently i dream of you.
Obstinately i dream of you.
Sacredly i dream of you.
Ritually i dream of you.
Petulant i dream of you.
As only dreamers can do,
As only lovers can do,
when dreams are love,
and i am a bright red balloon.

There is a man, who sits on the bench down the road. During the day.
He looks like there is a world he has seen, touched, tasted and felt, and dreamt to reality, but now he has, nothing and nothing to say.
His skin, is sagged and loose, there is a gullet of old age in his neck.
I turn my head away out of sheer respect.
There are tears in my eyes.
I want to hold his hand and ask him, 'What happened? Did you see her? Did.She.Leave? Do your children still call? Is there anything left of you here, anything at all?'
I sit here and weep and i wonder what he saw.
Whether i had seen it too, and done it and missed it, and missed it because of you?
My eyes they are tired.
More tired than my back or my pain.
They are tired from saving the day, and from walking in constant rain.
I picked out some bullets from old scars from way back when,
there were hit with some fine target practice of fine 'love' writing in the dark with the punch of a pen.
So i sit here, and i wonder if one day he will be me.
Wonder if he sat and wrote little dittys for a world, that he could not see,
for people he never met, for lovers who had up and gone, for those who had no story, no strength, no howl or battle song.
There is this old man, and he sits and he waits.
I want to ask him, Is there a future in this world that he awaits?
And i don't so i sit here and casually think of him awhile.
Before my mind turns to someone else, i can think of and love,
in my own spectacular, unique, philosophic, apathetic style.