City Lights,

This time, it's personal.

I am from Maize

and the Morning Glory

whose silent bent heads

bring memories of

obedient wives.

I am from pensive

and the introverts,

from fear and leather belts,

whose proud strikes

bruises bloom,

and the flowing crimson

tastes of copper.

I am from lands

where frail leaves

refuse to change

whose wilted and stunted

vines still remember

the mother root.

and the death of great women

whose stories remain

untold.

We loved with such difficulty,

We loved with tremendous struggle,

But it was always with great pleasure.

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.

.the wets

She says, I love you

but what she really says is,

"tell me you love me."

My silence

does not sit well with her

Like Eve of Eden

she suddenly becomes aware

of her own nakedness,

fashioning clothes out of bedsheets

pulling them towards herself

with a hint of disdain.

I don't blame her,

her reaction is justified.

I have been in her place before.

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.

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).

Title: All that you love will be carried away.

Artist: Local Idiot (self)