I think I’ve been infatuated.
Twitterpatted.
Romantisized.
But never like
this.
It’s a new twist.

I see you like a spectre
gliding through the shelves
of poets who have expressed
feelings so deep they’ve delved
into the very heart and soul
of the human experience.
And they still don’t know
what I feel when you glance
back at me amidst
the bound books,
and look,
with your deep, piercing, gaze
into my heart
and amaze
me
and see
again
who I am.

Right after Christmas,/
TOYS seemed to go away. He’d/
nothing to play with.

Note: “TOYS” means “Thinking Of You Sweetly” (or “Sincerely” or “Sometimes”)

Maybe i should have no flair./
Maybe I should dare/
2 show I don’t care./

Maybe I should stop reeling/
with deep, emotional feelings./
Then, maybe, I’d get somewhere.

She’s symbiotic:/
Growing words and emotions/
with me. We let us.

She’s parasitic,/
Sucking words and emotions/
From me. I let her.
OR

She’s parasitic,/
Sucking words and emotions/
From me. I like it.

I wonder what it’s like/
to be liked to the point/
of obnoxiousness.

Oh dear./
Once again I hear/
the message I fear./

Friendship/
is where I slip./
No romantic fantasy/
for me.

Sometimes my fantasy/
can get the best of me./
Having you play a part/
is a great start/
to taking a chance/
with romance.

Did that last poem/
hit home?

Was it too much/
and make you blush?

Did it go too far?/
Or are you in your car?/

Or did it make you goo/
like it was supposed to do?

How would it b/
2 spoon/
from moon/
rise/
2 noon/
sunrise;/

2 caress you,/
2 b blessed by you,/
listening to your contented sighs?/

2 b bold enough/
2 hold you soft?