Of a hell of a thing.

It's a hell of a thing,
To bring out in this sting,
Your words are like fire,
When you spit or you sing.

Then your gone,
Like a vain puff of smoke,
The cloak, I'm choked,
Then contrition provoked.

Alone again, my best friend,
is no one, no fun,
I can't dream any more,
It's the thing you most tore.

And it's a sore situation,
My emotional inflation,
to consider and contrive,
In the end we all strive.

For naught, for nada,
For no old thing,
And the world is like ice,
When it's darkness you bring.

Of Untold Truths

Her words meld in succulent succesion,
And nothing seems to quench my obsession.
Every crevice and chasm to explore,
Her beauty appears to me as a chord;
In a language that seems familiar but forgotten,
With the sweetest voice like an angel begotten.
The mind’s eye meets with vivid interest,
Your body’s perfection in every excess.
For every expection that she met,
There's an abundance that I know not yet.