I Write... a lot. Here's something.

And it started again,
the rain that is.
It started in my eyes,
washed down my face
and covered my body in sadness -
lonliness.

So I did what I always do -
I collected my thoughts,
but that only made things worse,
because his lips were the only
things I could think about.

And then I saw everything,
everything I wanted to happen -
everything that will never be,
and it still felt good -
too good.

Carnival music was swirling,
passion was like vapour intoxicating us.
The lights were dim,
the shadows full of life,
and I danced,
and he danced,
and we danced

and we kissed

and we had s&*

and it was good.

As my soul glowed red
I braved the cold night,
but it wasn't cold at all,
because I could still feel his hands,
resting on my stomach,
applying pressure to my back.

They are magnificent; his hands.
They are minions of a cosmic message,
transporting lust, passion, sorrow, joy and hope
in the most ideal and balancing way.
And he probably doesn't understand
just how magnificently wonderful they are,
but I do.

His teeth are like soldiers at the gates of heaven,
blocking all that is wonderful and rare.
And they, in all their perfection are guarded
by the most impossibly divine lips;
strength and beauty combined, they
are as two kingdoms willing to merge.

And I barely know him,
he is a stranger to me.

Somehow I know that
this is why he is perfect.