Title: Love In The Time Of Coronavirus

I'll not waste good chapstick,

on bad kisses anymore.

It is written in the stars above - that we shall never meet,

any more than lovely moon - will ever meet the beach.

To gaze upon her pale shade - mirrored off the sea,

and have her waves break on the shore - for all eternity.

Eagerly I pray for tides - like the thirsty pray for drink,

to hear the music from the foam - and sea's tranquility.

I feel her pulling on my heart - with all her gravity,

a gentle language that she sends - spoken just for me.

Yet it's written in the stars above - that we shall never meet,

but when I feel her moonlit glow - I'll wait here happily.

The stains of human history

can never be erased,

only masked over until tolerable.

She's on my mind.

She got there through the ear canal.

She's in my heart.

I think she got there through the lungs.

I finally realized that sometimes the worst kisses were really the best kisses.

Like every time we tried to kiss and our teeth hit because we couldn't stop giggling and laughing.

Or when our lips were tight against our face, because we couldn't stop smiling at each other.

Those were the kisses we had.

Even after years of being together, those were our kisses.

Beautiful, memorable, awful kisses.

It just takes too much energy to keep you lit up little one. This is not sustainable, post renewable (Wait there's a poem here I think).

We never had a song together, but we sure as hell had a life together.

.the wets

Coffee thought.

Why aren't cookies called, Bakies? You don't cook them, you bake them.

Six Word Story

Last one alive, closes the door.