Poem from something I call: Sessions From the Balcony

The cold war comes after heartbreak.

Night falls into this sub-divided menu
whereas I could feel her if she decided to say yes
or we could coincide together like those who survive winter
and huddle our versions of emotion
to create our own substance

 (Or warmth)

Relationships are an ongoing trade.
Wouldn’t you agree?

Some people give, some take, and some understand the cycle.
They do things like breathe out so that someone else can breathe in,
which is genius
if you’re not afraid to be trusting.

The truth is, I’ve always been a fan of love

When I was young, the way a girl smiled could dictate the direction of my day.
If nothing else, the way she smiled would at least determine my next idea.
Like say, imagining her in a flowing skirt, crossing her legs
and then dangling an open-toed shoe from the top of her right foot.

I call this mesmerizing…

Or like when she twirls strands of hair around her index finger
and looks off into nowhere with a semi-glossed smile

I call that intriguing…

I may have written this before, but I’ll write it again:
Man may very well hold the key to the universe
but women are the cylinder into which it turns.

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