There is a woman

There is a woman.She walks this earth.
I have not met her, although I once came close. 

I have barely seen her, though glimpses have thrilled me. 

I have never spoken to her, although I swear I can hear her sweet accent in my head. 

And in my dreams.
I do not know her perfume but her scent thrills me. 

I have not touched her but can almost feel her skin beneath my finger tips. 

I have not looked into her eyes, but feel light-headed at the thought.
I have not owned her, but the hunger to do so consumes me.
There is a woman.
She walks this earth

FALTER

He can sense her in every footstep.
Every cracked, grey paving slab,
Every rust-red, crumbling brick,
Every light-filled, laughing window,
Every mocking, welcoming sign.

He will not bend.He will not falter.
He can see her in every stranger.
Every passing, dark hunched shadow,
Every bare-legged, smiling girl.
Every wide-eyed, staring child.
Every joyful, oblivious lover.

He will not bend.He will not falter.

He can feel her in every heartbeat.
Every rapid, strained, urgent breath
Every drum-tight, bursting sinew
Every white-knuckle, clenching fist
Every streaming hot angry tear.

He must not bend.
He must not falter.

Good morning

Four in the morning
I'm counting the sylables
Until I see you

Woke up to study and this is all I could think of

Perspectives

You said that being ‘in love’was more than ‘loving’
though I disagreed.

There seemed little pointin arguing the case.
There was no need.

I’d always loved youbut you were never
in love with me.

IF...

If I should die soon
I will leave behind
enough love
to warm your sweet heart
for eternity.

Sent as a text at four one bleak, sleepless, lonely night in March of this year when it actually seemed a real possibility

Last Chapter

I believed there would be a final chapter.A last blaze of glory.
Her body eloquent in its form. 

Her large, almond-shaped eyes wide with fear and desire. 

Her red lipstick smudged beneath my fingers.
Her nerves dancing beneath my touch.
Her long dark hair spread like a wild storm upon sacrificial white sheets. 

Her nakedness pure and fresh, 

But in this heavy, echoing, empty silence I am no longer certain.
Perhaps the final page has already been written.
The ink has dried.

Sometimes

There are things I miss
that I shouldn't,
and things I don't
that I should

Sometimes we want
what we couldn't
sometime we love
who we could

Opportunity

If I were
to sketch out
my life
for you
would you
take the time
to see
all the shapes
hidden in what
I’ve painted
or merely
take on face value
the lovely scene
I place
before
your eyes