I wish everyone could hear
The ecstasy dancing in your throat
Everyone should see
The veins decorating your *******

Everyone should be granted the vision
of your eyes as they smile when you awaken
Everyone should see
The way you will the morning into existence.

I've never heard it said "Well, at least I'm not that ugly
And I have a decent life"
How could anyone ever desire
To deny beauty it's pristine right?

I've heard "I'm so low down
Please don't drown me in the truth."
This is not your reality
It would be a lie if anyone told you:
You are anything less than a gorgeous tragedy.

After autumn strips the Oaks
The still air screams with the crunch of dead leaves
  .as death seeps out of the soiL....

She feels like
cold lemonade
On a hot
Summer night

She tastes like
Sweat drenched
skin
On a balmy
spring day.

She looks like
The golden sunshine
Streaming through the window
On a clear
winter morning.

She smells like
The cold waves crashing
On my toes
On a warm
Autumn evening.

The little bit of you
I still taste on the tip of my tounge,
is a layer of flavor
that whispsers from the shadows.
A brush of your skin
is a thousand years alone
in a pit of pure bliss.
Cloaked in the scent
of your proximity,
an image that guides my hands
and my lips,
through the realms of my dreams.
You are the reason senses exist.

In the deathlands of night,
where you can't hide from what has gone,
the eyes of recollection are ripped open.
And once the eyelids of your spirit have been shredded,
all you can do is stare, stare, stare.
Back across the years
into the puddle of possible pasts,
searching for just the right reflection.
The perfection you put your finger on
and felt pulsing beneath your passion.
The fragment of time, folded up,
and stored away, like a ward
a barrier against forgetfulness.
This is all that memory demands.
A little place to call home,
where doubt and hope don't dwell alone,
a vault for each shout, each tear, and each moan.
A freezer to store all the flesh, and burnt bones,
of a thousand sunlit paradises you saw
destroyed before your eyes.
A room with a voice
that can pierce the brashest din
of just-forget-me's,
and we-never-should-have-been's.
A land of straight razors, and special souvenirs
we keep safely nestled between our fragile ears
a monument of all we are
a record of our years.
An echo that will never disappear.

Is it the hand that cuts the artery,
or is it the hand that hesitates?

I miss us. What we were.
Back in the brilliant beginning.
When one hand was enough
to count everyone you loved.
Now the power of Babble towers above us,
and the masses mill like mindless cattle
in the verdant pastures where we once played.
If I had stayed, would It have turned out this way?
Everyday, I try to find meaning in the mindmeld,
love in the layer upon layer of nothingness.
How did we let this happen to us.
This lovely land of light and laughter,
has become a dark and dreary domed city,
overshadowed, not by what it is..
but, instead, it only looks so sad,
because of what it was,
and what we let it become.
I'm sorry that I left you,
and I'm sorry that it was my finger
that let the torrent through the dam.
All that's left is just a petty sham,
of the kingdom which we shared,
before this world moved on.