Our lovers’ hands are where our hearts belong.

We were not designed to be alone.

Dust your heart for fingerprints…

You will never find your own.



Strive for me like good grades on a scholarship.

Want me.

Need me.

Study me.

Stay up late.

Pinpoint my main points.

Include them in your PowerPoint.

Highlight my essential part.

Refine it like fine art.

Cross out my mistakes.

Work through that headache.

Read and reread in between my lines.

Scan through me several times.

Underline my point of view.

You can stop for a few…

Refill your coffee and come back to me.

Trace my uncertainties.

Slow down on my complicated sections.

Notate my corrections.

Pull an all nighter.

A grueling overnighter.

Fall asleep on top of me.

Wake up between my sheets.

Did you Memorize my importance?

Recite it in the morning.

Rip out pages and Save them.

You don’t need to pass a test…

Just show an interest.

Be present and show your intent.

Participation is 50 percent.

He asked for a simple “cracked lid” miracle.

Slightly used but bearable.

Even a “broken seal” miracle, not to get too technical.

Or maybe an “open box” blessing.

Nothing too pressing.

Just something to ease the stressing…

He wondered if he was noticeable.

Life is uncontrollable.

Even made his hopes negotiable.

Color Code

stuck in dull hysteria.

her life takes place in the Grey area.

50 shades of constant stress.

even her dreams stream colorless.

White lies replace Blue skies.

all events are now “Black Ties”.

dried Grey tears surround her issues.

wiped away with White tissues.

so she’s intrigued with shopping sprees. searching for shiny things… diamond rings… pearls on strings… anything…

died her hair Platinum.

those new Blue sheets are satin.

interior design.

Purple drapes in mind.

filling her glass with dark Red wine.

Pink on her lips.

keeps color right at her fingertips.

can’t bare to see the color chip.

she Invites friends on these rainbow trips.

an invite they never appose.

eyeshadow to match their clothes and goes with those heels that expose their Gold toes.

an old ritual every woman learns about.

mask that heavy Grey that piles throughout.

and should anyone ask, it’s just a

“Girls Night out”.



She spoke in rhythms and beats.

Edit and revise before she speaks.

Biting her tongue- a skilled technique.

Bold words gathered in her cheeks.

Strips and pieces of unsaid words.

Sharp and jagged edges of the unheard.

Spinning around her point steadily.

Casually clarifying its complexity.

And when that point meets her blank sheet

With rhythms sharper than what she can speak

She is grateful for all that she didn’t say.

For the ragged chips of unspoken decay

Create points that slide through locks and even cut through rock.

Her dearest remedy for writers block.

So Hushhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhould you try to Listen to her….

You might hear her pencil sharpener.