Love Is A Risk, Sometimes You Get Hit Out Of Nowhere

Oh I don't know what to write about. I'm in the mood for love poems. Writing about the excuses we make to touch a lovers face when you can barely speak. About finding ways to say I love you without using those worn out words. About how it feels when your lips are barried in another persons neck kissing the seams to her shoulders, and the path to her heart. I wouldn't know where to begin.

It seems like ages since I held another persons hand and felt as if the sun just met the moon with a quiet wink and how do you do. . .There is something subtle about a poem. It's like a spark or better yet the conduit. You find yourself over come. Looking up at the sky as if the constellations spell hope. Somewhere in our heart hoping it spells destiny. The truth is that love is a gift. It's as natural as fire as organic as weather as destructive and unpredictable as either. . .

My heart is tethered to a white flag.

I've given up.

We're starving in the trenches. We've lost lives, nights of sleep, and gathered dreams like gold. If there is anyone amongst us who can recall what it is we were supposed to be when we grew up then let him speak. Let him tell us how it feels to remember when the memories are weapons. This love is a lisp. We were never meant to sound like this but we make due. We take what hands we are dealt, maybe cheat, maybe bare our teeth, but play these cards as if we're not fighting a war. We're just fighting for touch. For the one we undoubtedly love to break their bread and feed us. We give our heart not freely but with contracts we know no one can fill and we forgive those short comings that are more often character traits then flaws.

It is inborn intuition to fight you. Maybe I'll f**k you but I will always fight you.