when your lips touch
telling me your coming home
like you never left
key still works
bed still made
lies still heard
when you walked back i knew it would all be the same
still
this bed never felt the same until you walked back in
Tag: Lovers
two person show;
i love talking to you;
somedays it is a ball of laughter
snowballing down an avalanche sized memory.
the next will be at each others throat
the next time we see each other
be at each others throat.
the next will be asleep in each others arms
loving and dining taking turns
learning and performing
for the days to come
rocks and stars
i wonder why you wait;
on hands and knees
for the rocks to shift into stars
once the star has fallen, it’ll never glow
rise, it might shine for a day
roll around in the mud
but return.
oh baby you’re the star everyone wants
but no one can be
glowing steadily
wishing for a god
to bring your star back
she’ll listen
but not even she
can bring back what has fallen
honey flavor
it is a need
without second guessing or thinking
hands lay in yours
head in your lap
everything on the table
no where to hide
all on the line-
vulnerable;
in the eye of a lion,
weak and exposed,
in the eye of you
i found something new-
safety in fear
fear that this is a dream
a dream i never want to wake from
questionable ruler
wish and washo
asking for a prayer
gifted and quit it.
begging for the night
got the winter
the morning
the winter.
wore the crown
left your book
crown weighed a ton
ending the feud
ending the cycle
tour of france.
bubbles in this bitch;
rising tides higer bars loving times
they could never beat you;
they rubbed sand in your eyes
and you blinked in there face
bitch-
they can’t keep you down
your standards let them know that they are all clowns
probably should have inserted another noun
but it is what it is
the money makin’ ms
when you take the pop quiz
all the answers are b for back that shit up
i’m about to blowup
take a picture beacuse your makeup
could never look this good buttercup
blow bubbles on them babe
hit them with your cape
they are all just lesser apes
that gave up on their dreams.
i feel bad for them.
jungle book:’
it’s raining;
a week of it or so
nothing stronger then the fire
you left and now everything is gunfire,
rounds in my captivity
less and less full activity;
the rain came and it was already a jungle
beast running wild prowling on uneaten remains-
i needed your sun
and the beast came
howling at night
hunting during the day
lay away pathway waste in a day
mayday – mayday
wish we could find the boat that day in may
and sail back, to an island
leave this jungle-
the rain washed away the map
in branches hiding from monsters
looking at the sky
hoping for a pause
looking at the sky
trojan horse
we fall
we rise
we find each other at the bottom
it’s not where we started but we here
here at a fountain;
throwin’ dimes
wishin’ for a miracle:
feedin’ weedin’ threw the muk at the bottom
can i get a dolla fifty?
fifty begging for air
yet
we got here
out of the weeds
through the open doors
into a day
where we could breathe fresh air
where the mornings are filled with jelly toast and cartoons
where the nights are not filled with open prayers and sealed letters
and this is Troy
silver medal
there is no where to escape
all exits are blocked
and i hold my hands
wishing on a star that i’m not acquainted with
not yet;
for an answer
the pedestal is so lonely
second; third is a ghost
and first, first is somewhere else
here and no crowd or medals
just a box with white chalk numbers.
no one would believe me;
with all these opened doors
they never checked the locks
no one remembered those nights wandering
smoke in the air – silence
no one remembers the phone calls they never got
dialed and hung up dialed and hung up dialed
just to hear an answering machine
to feel the chills down your spine-
no one talks about it.
so we just sit on a couch a ghost, the one who got away
and me, a silver medal
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
Saint's Muse 