Lips meeting if only to find something that isn’t there.

Because, why the hell not?

Just a little longer I’ll bear.

Pressing closer in hopes to feel-

So irritated- I reel.

Frustration pricks at my attention

Cool hands. Cool breath. Damn. Nothin’

A sigh and a swift step away into another’s chest

Taller, he’s taller and his smile knowing.

A cigarette proffered. A hand shake. A Lighter.

A drag and soothing warmth.

Good enough. No. Better.

Obvious to Even My Eyes.

You wish to hate her. But you cannot find a good enough reason to do so.  So you just love her and love her and love her for that tired but beautifully resilient soul. You wish to hate her, but you come to realize that you are not the only one privy to those dusty crevices in her mind. You wish to hate her even when she's sinking- but you just fucking can't. Even at her worst.

Destitute

You hope to write of it as though it is not that incorrigible word that your heart reverberates with when teetering on the brink of rest. As though it is more or less than what it truly is. But you know it is but one thing that consumes you when you leave yourself to... well- - yourself. And it is most pitiful because in those moments your vices are what look ridiculously enticing. It is warm saccharine to your clouded lungs and slender company to your nimble fingers.

Her resident insomniac

It was always the warm timbre of his voice whispered against her skin that would stir her senses into wake. Then the outline of his troubled brow would come into view and an apology would slip past his lips.

The metal band in his other hand.

She’d often wondered how things would have turned out had she simply let him hold her smaller hand in his. And yet her inherent response was now but a waft of lingering smoke from those stolen nights and bleary mornings that she had savored in the crook of her chest.

She’d never thought she’d alternately want to grasp those memories so close to her and to push them away so strongly.

I would adore

I would adore it if someone were to romance me with inked words rather than using empty verbs in eloquent speech .

I would adore an earnest, sincere, poem. Or just something so unabashedly from the heart.

Something that sets them apart in a way that showcases their eccentricity a la carte of their soul - if my Love would wish to bare.

But maybe that's too much to hope for- or do I dare?

Smooth Away

Some days I look at you 

and all I wish to do is smooth

down that wrinkle atop your

forehead.  

Other days I wish to kiss away 

those two lines that appear beside your lips

when you frown.

Everyday I hope to see your eyes 

crinkle in joy.