Please stop playing games
isn't my heart bruised enough?
have I not bled rivers
for you to bathe in?

“I am not a toy”
and when you twist the knife
I feel it

I need peace
and your song
keeps me swimming
to the deep end of despair

Please stop laughing
once you've made me cry
these tears taste like oceans
and I am more than ready
to drown in them

It's the color of her eyes; the color of the sea. In both you could drown, or find God himself. It's the space between cities. Road signs & right turns, and the quiet determination to unravel in her arms. The sheets on her bed at 3am, where she whispers "I love you" and you've never been so sure of anything. The breath you exhale after you kiss her; it's the color of the blood pumping through your heart. The heart that she keeps beating. The heart that has her name written all over it. It's the heaviness in anticipation. The insatiable desire for a minute, just one minute. It is not the opposite of passion, like once suggested. It is passion itself. It is the sound of whispers. Her breath on your neck, and shivers down your spine. The color that fills in the weeks until you see her again. But most importantly, it will always be the color of her eyes. And it is no coincidence they are the color of the sea.

I strive for the taste of your tongue
the way your lips feel pressed against mine
I have never experienced anything better.
My heart races as you glide you hands all over my body,
oh how I miss the way you feel beside me.
You never fall short of making me feel so good.
When I look into those light blue eyes
I see myself,
a smile never seeming to leave
and wondering if you ever will.

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
    Dark like me-
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening...
A tall, slim tree...
Night coming tenderly
    Black like me.

When the lights go down
We look at each other
And you follow the curve of my face
Before your lips make one of their own

I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,—
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.