Did i ever tell you . . .

That you are not the first. . .

That you could have been . . .

still you are here,

still i am with you,

And i will tell,

that you are my last.

And i will tell,

that you need to be.

Because, I love the way our days as it to be,

Because, I love the way we talk of pure nonsense,

You are, were, would and will be here in me, 

that we can,

or can not have.

I’d die without you,

I’d die losing you,

yet i dont need that attachment.

If a touch. . .

would be the subject of the matter.

Then these fingers,

would chase after you.

These hands may,

want to hold and cup the base of your neck.

My arms to hold you,

down and pin as i drop my kisses-

where ever and randomly entice and arouse, You.

Then baby, life begins,
as I enter your mind,

intellectually fornicating your senses,

before we can even touch,

emotionally what we need most.

The muse of my Art

Once I held you,

never before,

then after.

You are always beside me,

first as my Lady,

second an eternal bestie.

Third my constant lover,

the one who doesnt amuse,

never used me,

please forgive me,

for abusing your love time and again.

Still we part and be torn in our duties for our own.

I have loved you,

I always will.

For you my better half,

For you my beloved,

For you.