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Vibrant Red and Gorgeous

When the words ‘I love you’
are announced from between those lips
of yours, so vibrant red and gorgeous,
dripping with untamed passion,
I realize all the beauty in the universe
exists only at your feet, and where you stand
is the origin of much gracefulness,
which I long to travel through.

There is little left in me
to fend against the attractive qualities
of your physique and mind,
your personality, wit and charm,
being aspects of your eternal beauty
I long to hold within these arms of mine,
whilst I run my fingers through your hair.

Your voice makes love to mine,
exposing my weaknesses
every moment in which we meet,
my selfish desire to have you all to myself
being revealed so easily,
I cannot help but fault my heart
for falling so unconditionally for you.

I am no liar in love,
as I lie semi-conscious
in the endless field of desire,
bleeding on the bladed petals
of the many roses I longed to secure
for you alone. I am tempted by no other
in the harsh existence of romance,
waiting on your call like a meth addict,
awaiting his next fix.

I secretly cry when experiencing evenings alone,
needing, rather than wanting,
to have your body pressed against my own,
the lack of caution presented to me
in my younger years, scaffolding the courageous lust
I produce daily, like sweat, eagerly anticipating,
with anxiety strained limbs, the moment
I meet your Heavenly gaze once more.

With your bosom, pressed agaisnt my own,
the breath billowing through your lungs
existing similarly to mine, as we lie upon my mattress,
seething after hours of enjoyment.
Your flesh is heartier than any sun,
warming my unwavering conviction on freezing nights,
when icicles threatened to appear upon my person.
I cannot confirm if our relationship
is like the others happening right now,
but I can guarantee, I won’t regret having loved you,
even if you leave, for every memory is a banquet,
that ought to be gorged eternally.

Romantic Honesty

My ears were once bleached
by the harassing words of heartache,
concerning the abolishment of the romantic
from the society wherein I reside.
Even before this news bruised my cheek,
I had policies agaisnt honesty,
for nobody wants to hear the bluntness of a yearning heart,
craving lustrous affection. But your eyes
deceive the stereotypical remarks made by the mouths
of prior visitors, who complained that truthfulness
was barely bearable. I needlessly halter
my decision to use you as my own confessional,
and leap without second thought
into the midst of feelings I have arranged
so tidily for you, in suppressed linen bags
awaiting the trash receptacle. I have fallen
too many times before because of a pretty face,
but none were ever so inviting as yours,
and due to this, I know you are the cigarettes
I ought to never smoke; you are the hallucinogenic substance
I should not ingest. But my heart betrays
my other senses, readying itself to be executed
by your admittance, that you cannot return
the avalanche of feelings, buried deep within
my unwavering adoration. Your eyes,
like blossoming flowers,
flourish amongst the beauty of your soft complexion,
your lips, with every word
expelled from across your tongue,
urging my own to touch them. Your body, blessed
by a curvature
more sumptuous than any hourglass,
cannot possibly be ignored, my mind having castigated
me, each time I overlooked
the opportunity to admire your artful figure.
Your broken English serenades my heart
like the lyrics of Faye Wong,
your psychedelic voice
mesmerizing
me
into
submission.
I could spend a hundred years or more
discovering you and your culture,
and even then, I would have barely breached the surface.
Your personality,
a mixture of introverted shyness
and spontaneous happiness,
coupled with your family-oriented heritage,
the respectfulness you bestow
upon all others, mirroring a soul of utter kindness,
that may still have thorns should I approach.
Your heart is not transparent enough
for my own to ascertain
whether your love already belongs to another,
and maybe this fear, that keeps me from walking towards you,
will become my eventual downfall.
Had I not been so restrained by abstract hesitation,
there would have been little spared sacrificing,
in order to have you selfishly to myself,
and in this moment of uncontrolled passion,
I would thrust you against the wall,
nibbling my way down your spine,
removing any garment
that dared deter my lips,
from going down on you.
Reluctance would be torn asunder
in the preoccupation of my dream,
and even if I had a thousand life times,
awaiting me like a rallying cry
at the moment of my passing,
one with you would surely be enough,
in which I make love to you every single night,
exploring
every
inch
of that paradise you call a body,
before holding you close,
your bosom pressed against my chest,
your breath upon my ear.
But what luck is there
agaisnt the many barriers, that bludgeon
my conditional hope,
and though the admittance of defeat
is not an endeavor I longed to achieve,
I find any other option, is plagued by crippling doubt,
and as I whisper my goodbyes to you
in an almost inaudible tone, not wanting you
to ever know, from fear of the shame it might bring,
I announce secretly to myself: you, my dear, are perfect.

Paradise Broken

There is much difficulty to be had
in diagnosing a fractured heart,
no medical professional required
to establish the wrongfully obnoxious agony
that accosts me so. What I would not give
to have a higher power suspend my senses,
and punish me ever so severely
with the removal of all emotion
destined to cause further pain.
Despite the raw potential for unflinching happiness,
dank despair, is as always,
unending in its hostility. I am, as I shall be
for a period of incalculable time, a book,
void of pictures and words, constructed
by emptiness in a broken paradise,
wishing to be inoculated from the love
I once held for you, so I may not grimace,
painstakingly, with tears brimming between my eyes,
after being condemned by truthful knowledge
that your heart beat will never share
its wondrous rhythm with my own.

New Year Lights – Happy New Year 2015 Peeps!

I am a cosmonaut,
traveling across an aged tightrope
that hovers in an anti-gravity suite
towards the combination of several colors
brighter than this world’s flare.
The fireworks flatter my irises
with unending beauty, refusing to yield
against the dark spaces that hang loosely
in mid air.
Another beginning explodes with the atoms
of this universe taking flight, shaking the heavens
into omission once the new dawn
is birthed. What resolutions shall I bless
my body and heart over the next twelve months,
or should I forget about promises
and instead insist to be entertained this night,
without the poppycock fear of tomorrow?
War and death could evaporate
any chance for wishes made,
and even if I deemed pure love
worthy of administering as my annual wish,
who is to say the possibility
can be traced towards a future, beautiful and true,
when this beacon of happenstance
exists outside of my grasp.

Happy New Year! Wishing all of you the best in 2015!
Thank you for reading.

My Wishlist

The list I leave out for Santa
has grown increasingly short
over the years. Where once
I asked for toys and games,
books and television shows,
I now ask for things
that are neither purchasable,
or easily constructed.
It is unlike love to be found
in the aisle of a shopping outlet,
beside Christmas toffees
and beverages. The want
for romantic companionship
is an ask not easily answered,
although obtaining something
so beautiful would be easier
granted than world peace.
When we are young, money
is the sole requirement
for obtaining our heart’s desires,
but once aged, like a fine liquor,
bills and coins become obsolete,
for our wishes can only
ever be granted by other means.

Memories

When you apply my old jacket
to your person, and the fabric
caresses your arms the way my hands
used to, does an image of our time together
flock into your mind,
or is this jacket no longer a conduit
of memory, and just a piece of degrading leather,
fit for the trash receptacle?

That word, love, it has lost
its once proud poignancy,
tortured by over-usage,
until it is abandoned by basic dialect,
and fulfills the last dying oath
of any treasured word,
and becomes an unhealthy cliche.

This is the length and breadth
of the relationship we shared,
the image of your face, I once cherished,
now haunting me, making my every sense
tremble with delirium,
until even the thought of you
is poison inĀ  my veins.

Dreaming

I’m always back by breakfast
after I have dreamed the night away,
serenaded with the thoughts
now fossilized in history,
tarnished by regretful inaction
and the hope I may redo the broken promises
to myself, in order to find
a resolution. The darkness
though, offers little delicacy,
only charcoal residue, which paints the world
with decadency. There is no safety
or security to be had, however,
if it were possible, I would wish to become
hollow or stone, but to be camoflagued
with invisibility would be a substitute
my happiness would willingly accept.
I question the application of such stimulating imagery,
like that which falls upon my eyes
this night, the moment a gram of romanticism
flourishes within my unequaled passion.
Why is there never a chance to see
a beautiful woman more than once,
and why is there no opportunity
to relive the prospects of an adoring fantasy
over several evenings, but nightmares
are only ever too happy to return?
Being alive may be a gift
that nothing can be compared to, but it comes equipped
with the pains of treachery and betrayal,
and never can one request a rebirth
with the acquired knowledge from a former life,
in order to do everything right the first time
over. But dreams can offer friendship,
though even this is fleeting, when the regrets
of life push through the barricades of the mind,
and force themselves to be confronted
by the unconscious spirit.
If only the world found within those sleepy pastures
was equaled in the realm I regretfully return to,
I would never worry about the comfort
my heart does not abide. If I could sleep
forever, I may miss opportunities,
but then, the pain of the outside would never traumatize
these irises, nor the feelings which swell
behind them in the confines of my soul,
and perhaps this alone defines what beauty truly is.

Why the Words are Written

Fine art is a conduit of untapped beauty
many willingly risk their existence for.

So how much strain must I allow
upon my mortal life, to ensure a line
of poetry is deserving of reality,
amongst the works of other poets
orbiting around my own?

The solar system
of creativity is vast and limitless,
and how else to ensure remembrance
is cast upon the shadows presented by the words
I use, than to make certain the stain
of forgetfulness is never granted opportunity.

But to freely write this point of opinion,
barely begins to touch the truth of circumstance,
actions requiring a mandatory place,
else the promise I make myself
will be turned into transgressionary failure.

What muse, would stem the tides of bleak ambition,
in replace for tears of happiness, and make the hope
I hide inside myself, become as real as breathing?

For years, I have hidden the weakness
I am unfortunate to hold inside my chest,
but this woman of inspiration would set free
the treasures, like a wren from a cage,
and make all that I have swallowed into me
an exterior force for the ears, and if this melody
is proven accurate, then perhaps I ought to write
for the length of time she remains by my side.

Into the Sunset

Euthanasia my heart, if you will,
so I may feel no more. Despite the light
of life blossoming before me,
I require a permanent reprieve
from the pain of never knowing
love again. The feeling slipped
so suddenly that one time
through my fingers, and no matter
what tactic I attempt, I am erased
from passion’s vision. No longer
can I claim the touch
of a would be paramour,
my heart becoming entrenched
in a pool of paramount distress.
I can feel little more
than the fatigue of loss,
as I witness the woman
I would wish to make my own,
vanish into the sunset evermore.

In Your Eyes

If I were to complain about my romantic
circumstance, who would listen to my woe?
Despite my feelings, I have doubts
you would come to my rescue,
and even so, I am inclined to ask,
what am I to you? What exactly do I look like
in your eyes? If I were not so shit-faced
after trying to reduce the darkest colors
of my depression, from being frequently excluded
in a town without a need for me,
perhaps I might have spared a chance
to hear your words with much attention
evermore. If I were to excuse my actions
though, I would retort by noting how
I have been disqualified for living
once before, the truth of it being,
that in this town, nobody ever wants to know
the real inside. What words did you ever say
to me, which were not meant for other ears,
because the moments we spent together
just so briefly, contained a dire silence
I could not help but get away from.
One of us ought to take the lead
and open up, but never does such seriousness
penetrate the want we shall never have,
except for in my dreams, to kiss
the other on the lips and confess
the honest truth; I love you.
It is so unfortunate fair maidens
do not want these words to come from lips
of mine, else I would have said
them long ago, before the two of us
were on the verge of separation,
and now that chance, so fleeting,
cannot ever be resuscitated once again.