I’m too late now 

I yearn for the kind of love that takes your hand and marvel at its softness, just because. 

The kind of love that glances at you every few seconds, the kind that cannot keep its fingers to himself – just a touch, face, cheek, hand, hair – a stroke of a brush – because his hands were meant to feel the nooks and lines and velvety touch of you. 

The kind of love that is so amazed by you, there is a need to brush his fingers on you, to know you are real. 

The kind of love that is impatient to talk to you, to hear from you. The kind of love that melts away the hours. 

The kind of love that embraces your thoughts, expressions and opinions and is thirsty for more. 

The kind of love that calls you at three a.m just to marvel at you and the sleep-heavy voice. 

The kind of love that digs through the pages of worn out books and lines of poetry to show you the world you love from his eyes. 

The kind of love that fights for you. 

The kind of love that understands your spirit. 

The kind of love that truly desires to reveal your personality. 

The kind of love that puts you first. Before friends, plans, situations, convenience. 

The kind of love that turns your name in to a poem. 

The kind of love that captures your every move, every laugh, every emotion. 

The kind of love, that love desires. 

The kind of love that is spoken of through stories spanning centuries before, in a new gleaming light. 

The kind of love that just knows what you need. 

The kind of love that is not afraid. 

The kind of love that is a prayer that escapes your lips with soft breaths and deep sighs. 

The kind of love that waves goodbye to the deep setting loneliness that eat away your bones. 

The kind of love that keeps you awake with a smile playing on your lips. 

The kind of love that calls for midnight drives to nowhere. 

The kind of love that puts music in your feet and dances with you on a dark street between here and somewhere. 

The kind of love that hears music in your laughter, songs in your words and peace in your voice.  

The kind of love that barefeet and sandy shores is jealous of. 

The kind of love that has no limitations. 

The kind of love that surpasses all else. 

The kind of love that is brimming over a vintage China vase, delicate, beautiful, fragile and exotic. 

The kind of love that marvels at you. 

The kind of love that introduces happiness. 

The kind of love that celebrates you. 

The kind of love everyone deserves, but hardly receives.

The kind of love that builds you a home within its walls and decorates it with his love. 

Only for the takes 

There are many 

who show their willingness 

to be there for you, 

as long as the payment comes in full – 

Your body arched under their touch

Moans escaping at their glance

Hearts racing for their love. 

Ironic, how none

can be found 

when you are left alone

with a heart full of sadness 

and mind full of thoughts, 

waiting to be emptied

for solace to be part of your soul. 

The irony of you

I came to you in piece

and you made me whole.

Then you shattered me against the glass

and watched as I fell,

in to a million little pieces,

each shrieking in protest,

for it has finally found it’s place.

Instead of covering your ears,

you laughed.