zebrasindenver

write me a poem she asked

softer than velvet

ill show you a hell i replied

deeper than love

she would look at me so often

tears in her eyes

rage in her voice

why can you not be soft?

im sorry my love

but softness was the first thing to go

its hard to write sad poems

in nice weather

i danced with the devil

and she made it out alive

there seems no more fluidity to life

there is no water

this is dry

this life

nothing flows

just your anger

and my regret

its getting too busy in here to write a quiet poem

saturday night

and the heart of bukowski

those first few moments

the beginging

the world seems perfect

before the doubt

the mistrust

the lies

the war

the anger

ahh my love

those last few moments

when was the last time

i felt

such a beautiful regret

i feel almost meloncholic to be leaving in december

its the coldest of times

for the warmest of prose

you were the most powerful body of water

and i but dry sand

incapable of your floods

i was drowned by what i stole from you

you were a river

when all i needed was a stream

a pathway

upon empty land