Poetry · Writing

first floor – second deck hall of a balcony still under construction

i only can picture you

not in a frame or a scrapbook

a memory;

where we all live

in harmony dancing on the first floor

our favorite floor

the song- our song

the one that hasn’t been written

it’s our favorite,

and you’ll hold me

run your fingers through my hair;

(you know i love that shit)

you know i love you

since the moment i saw you

that song began

my- our favorite

on this first floor

of this safe place

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Poetry · Writing

yes.

should i?

wander around this empty room reading the same lines until they are burned into my brain

should i?

sing it in a different note feel it bottle in my throat read it write it on a different note

should i?

read about it on the front page kick it into another gauge feed it all into my road rage

should i?

show up at your door let you know this is meant for more i’ll never leave this is what i stand for

should i?

Poetry · Writing

the way; the only way

it wasn’t the beautiful eyes

your beautiful smile

what you love, intrest

the way your cheeks shine when you laugh,

i mean really laugh

the way your voice perks up when you talk about something you love

when you talk about your future

how you want to impact this world

the way you touch me

the way you walk

the way you talk

the way you love me

it’s how you saw me;

the way your beautiful mind puts me together like a puzzle

 

Poetry · Writing

choking gale

you talked

and i walked

i’d never let the air between us

hold our throats hostage

suffocate that will-

it’s the last thing;

i’d never;

most of the time i stutter and mutter

and wonder what’s on your mind

for i’m on the moon and i’d never leave you behind

fixating on tonight

i’m not a white knight

too many stains from rain

shooting through my brain

like i lost game seven an champagne

is rainin’ down-

it’s the last;

never.

Poetry · Writing

all in the eyes;

i see tomorrow in your eyes

as i stare deep into the morrow

hands entangled

stars spangled

this is freedom;

i see shadowless plains

flowers in vases

paintings of cotton candy

a type writer by the window

newspapers on the table-

i sometimes see neighbors

i sometimes see a river;

a stream and a swing under a tree

free from social pressure and this is a refresher

theres us; theres us, just us

i see that;

a tree with a heart carved in

the honey in my tea

the treasure under the river

all in your eyes