I will write you a poem, right now, 12:42 AM
But you’ll have to figure out if it’s about love or mayhem
What’s left to give if you’ve had too much?
If I’m not your first, and not my last, then whats the catch?

Are we bound to look forward to what will happen next?
Or just enjoy our stupid conversation, laugh at each other’s text?
Are we suppose to question what will happen to us?
Or just be grateful, because there’s nothing left to discuss

Give our present a permanent fix, what do you think?
No need, we can lose everything in a blink
But are we going to let things fall apart?
No, I don’t think so; we’re just about to start

I’m talking to you in a language we both understand
This spontaneity only the two of us can comprehend
Keep going, even if we’re not on the same page
I’ll catch up with you; we’ll be together as we age

Stop right there inside this heart of mine
Let’s have a toast first, red or white wine?
Then I’ll let you go so you can follow your dreams
From a distance, I will watch you gather all your wins

Lock me up in your heart, will you?
I’d rather die in there, than lose this game for two
And I glanced at the clock, it’s 1:09 AM
So is this poem of love or mayhem?

Nothing much to say about his looks,
He’s someone I’d choose over a thousand books
Nothing much to say about the way he says my name
He changed the rules in my own love game

Nothing much to say about his eyes
He has a thing for suits and ties
Nothing much to say about how he thinks so deep
He’s still awake, though half the world’s asleep

Nothing much to say about how he likes jazz
He manage to clear of the fuzz
Nothing much to say about how he’s always late
He will always be the perfect date

Nothing much to say about how he carries himself neat and clean
He’s the type of guy who always aims to win
Nothing much to say about how witty he is
He’s my favorite poem, such a masterpiece

As you see, there is nothing much I could say
Because I still get amuse every day
“I’m nothing much” he says, but he’s not
God, he is so much more than that

Who stole my thunder, Who christened the ground with their footprints where mine should have been?

The holy heat of my words spreading up your spine, kissing your fingertips with friction, making the hair on your arms rise. I could make you say amen but the sound of your rain is prayer enough.

Blessed is the air that graces your skin between touching and going, the light that you bring and leave with. You never stay but god, the intensity is shocking.

Xanax for the pain inside my brain, temporarily easing off of the full throttle gas petal that drives me insane. Almost silencing all of the screams , and repetitive voices of my own self conscious, blaming self for all of my regrets and broken dreams. The calming of my ugly inner demons, abusing me with the ways of their constant torture. I am still my own worst enemy, and always will be, evermore.