To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it,
as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately,
which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem,
sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending.
So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves,
I can feel them clenching in my gut.  
As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a *******, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance,
my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed,
frankly they are getting out of control,
as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself,
are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place.
Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you,
even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much.
I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin,
naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch.
Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time,
I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough.
I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises,
representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation.
Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really,
and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace,
breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making,
which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly,
and the skip in my step as I head home.
So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear,
I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? ,
in the hope that you might just say yes...

I want to feel
the clink of your
teeth against mine
when your kisses
were too rough
for my rose-petaled lips

I want your fingertips
to trace the scars lining
my thigh while your
mouth explores the
terrain I myself
have yet to cultivate

I want you to find happiness
in the intimate crevices
of my body
that have yet to
hear the words:
“You’re beautiful.”
muttered and caught in
them for safe-keeping

I want this moment

here

forever

to attach itself to
my being so I can
at least remember
you at your most
vulnerable

and not when you
vanish into the
gray dawn that always
held ghosts for me -DDF

We lied there, between her sheets,
finger painting on each others skin.
and then she kissed me for the first

time after we- and that is when I knew,
that her love was the kind of love that burns
as it travels down your throat

And all I could taste were the lovers in her past,
the hearts that she broke,
and I knew that if I stayed my heart

would burn amongst theirs, so...
I did what I do best.
I gathered up my clothes that fell

on to the ground an hour before we-
I walked to the door and twisted the
glass stained ****

and left

That morning when I woke upon
my sheets. I kissed my darling, promised,
girl next to me and tasted

nothing

One more late night excursion
One more one night stand
With yet another wrong one

The wind blows me around like a plastic bag
Circles me around floating high above

Feet searching for the end of the bed
Trying to stand on solid hardwood

I don't know or I can cease to remember how I got here
How these are things that occupy my mind
How to cross the street and wait for the light to green
To convince myself
I need liquid courage
To let these moments manifest in my thick presence

I am different, hardly recognize me
I've changed, and I don't think I like this mirror image of what I would be
Compared to who stares back at me

I tiptoe across the wooden floor avoiding all the creaks.
Moonlight streaming through open windows of a silent summer night,
casting shadows over rumpled sheets of a well-used king size bed.
I hear the water running in the bathroom across the hall,
grabbing clothing strewed around the room I move with ninja speed.
Hunting for the elusive pair of ******* I just can’t seem to find.
Forget it, time is almost running out, I need to leave before that door opens.
Rushing now I grab my stash and head for the front door,
lightly hopping, stealthily propping as I pull on piece by piece.
Last, my shoes, I grab as I unlock the front door,
grab my keys, leave the note and run out barefoot.
“It was fun, I had to run, see you again someday,”
get in my car, start the engine, drive, drive away.

Cause she'll always be my lovely,
And I'll always be a **** up.
In the end that's the only thing,
That really matters.
But does it have to be that way,
Everything I do is poetic
And I'm tired of explaining every metaphor to you.
So just judge me,
For doing you wrong,
And while you sitting in you hatred
I'll show others to get along.
Cause I place my bets on the small talk,
All my money is on the rejects,
Don't tell me I'm less than you
No I can still be something greater

no one survives the hunt
or the transformation
between a juddering ****
that resembles desire
and the notch of recognition