Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry

If ever I find myself falling in love again, I hope it comes as one big wave; I’m tired of drowning slowly in sweet nothings.

She touches you with two hands,

And she cradles you in a lover’s whisper.

She outlines your face in her right;

Slow motions, etching into the tips of her fingers

The curves you never knew you had.

 
Her left makes its way toward your ear,

And the fire starts in your blushing cheeks,

Burning a red across every inch of skin

Her light walk leads her to.

 
Without a sense of purpose, nor known destination,

Still; her hands feel as familiar

As the glare from the Sun off windows ,

The scent of mornings in July, or else

The cold of snow that somehow warms

These bones during those terrible

Winter days of December Ohio.

 
Yes, she is that feeling

Of being lost out at Sea

And being home at the lighthouse

All rolled into those midnight touches,

Those kisses from fingertips

She has strung around my soul.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry

Fresh snow shining in the morning Sun is a view I’ll never grow tired of.

I want you to fall in love with me

The same way the flower falls in love

With the rising of the sun on the Eastern shores,

Those Boston winters capping the cold buds,

A dark center, kept to itself,

Until it unfurls with a moment

Of spring time winds and morning mist;

Fall in love with me during my winters

And bloom for me when my warmth

Is there for you to hold.