anythingbutblue

and oh, how love does live   and breathe and think and actlikebeauty. but oh, how does love live? does its heart beat to a rhythm of a simple african drum                                       or or -does it crash like symbols like trains like cars like rain up on the tin roof. and where does love live- is it here?

what if i was to die here tonight and take no more breaths would i be happy i'd lived right and just and said oh no no no no you will no have fun that is fun but somehow naughty and wrong will i be happy i'd stood for minutes at a time thinking and wondering what if I'd only of all the choices i'd make was to say no the best if only a yes will give joy for the moment its fleeting i know but oh so romantic and the cinema oh the cinema will be the end of my reason the yes to my no and the sex to my cherry it is something i hate and yet love and each day i fall victim to its artistic clutches as the world and mark that by world i mean all that i

____ is this thing worth living and dying for and also,(but-not only) worth smiling and crying for and begging and stealing and praying for- its life unlimited and pain unlisted its hope revisitited and truth reinstigated ____ is this thing that no one ever lacks, yetalways they feel lacking.

when sweet words to me are said a smile broadens and i try to file them carefully away in that drawer of encouraging words in my head where i try to so-romantically remember every-thing you say but usually and not on occasion, i fail. this theory invented by Jesus of loving words and deeds is lost on me unless, of course, it comes in the form of a male. because i will follow his handsome face anyplace he so leads. and in this i find my own identity crisis my own trait i would like so much to change but right now all i have is time in short slices and dices and i find my schedule too difficult to arrange.

forget me nots forgotten are they promises lost behind teenage curtains are they conditonal sentences given are they are you anything else but green and freshly livened with envy?

Following a preacher of unimaginable vision, An ebony skin, a dark silhouette, A bruised, yet unbroken spirit bounds Beyond the sooty frame, beyond the kinky hair, beyond. Bursting through layers of lifetimes of ludicrous bias With soundless and soft touch; skin-to-skin. Two sweating palms slide across one another Like flint and stone -Strike one! Ten fingers brush and search and mingle -Strike two! And nervously, like a blushing bride, they interlace. -Strike three! One strong hand reassures the other; a small squeeze, -A fire ignites! Skin-to-skin, pepper-to-salt, ebony-to-ivory, black-to-white. Unified, two joined hands wit

ill walk alone until the sun has set and pink the horizon becomes ill walk alone until the moon rises and the silver stars begin to shine ill walk alone until i shiver in the cold and the night seems almost endless ill wal alone until i look into the sky and the moon falls down ill walk alone until the falling moon is blotted out and the blotter is smiling and calling my name.