“Her body may lay on your sheets, but my name sits softly on your lips.”

Painting over cracks as you watch the ceiling fall – not everything can be healed with love.

Don’t waste your words on me, your face speaks in volumes that your breath could never reach.

A dishonor greater than any affair, is that of a friend who never was.

Hollow intent and echoes affection, a call with no response. Who could trust a dormant heart – where apathy is shaped like love?

Leaves dance on twisted arms, swaying on the breeze as though choreographed by unseen hands. Even the faithless could find themselves converts, by the smell of dampened earth and its blossoming rose.

I see the way that he is with you – holding your heart with softness he never spared for mine.

Lies sound so sweet when they are wrapped in velvet, a luxurious deception that charms my restless spirit – and I’m forever taken by beautiful things.

I fill the shadow of the girl you want, a placeholder to the one I know you’d rather – I’ll do for now, but not forever.

Maybe this time I choose ignorance, because giving began to feel like losing – repairing a house from rubble, and making sandcastles with the ash.

The knot in a grain of wood, a frost covering sodden grass. Mornings warmed by the rising sun and brewing coffee – the vision of the poet.

My thoughts feel like plagiarism – a feeling already felt, the words already written.

It spills from my fingers faster than ink can flow – feelings too strong to contain, emotions that demand to be felt.

14 days, but I can’t change my sheets. Your scents still marks my pillow – and its all that I have left.

Peace found me in a wordless embrace – in the rising of autumn sun, and the sound of turning pages.

Scribbled lines and crumpled pages – piles of rejection and resurrection. There will never be the right words to amend a lost goodbye.

Building a fire from a ash, what did I expect?

The Bread that we need each day to grow in eternal life, makes of our will a docile instrument of the Divine Will; sets the Kingdom of God within us; gives us pure lips, and a pure heart with which to glorify his holy name.

Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children.

You can’t hear me? Read my lips!

Silent lips speak the deepest truths.

Live with your lips pressed against your fears, kissing your fears, neither pulling back nor aggressively violating them.

The pipe draws wisdom from the lips of the philosopher, and shuts up the mouth of the foolish; it generates a style of conversation, contemplative, thoughtful, benevolent, and unaffected.

I think the quality of sexiness comes from within. It is something that is in you or it isn’t and it really doesn’t have much to do with breasts or thighs or the pout of your lips.

Nothing but the taste of silence touching her lips these days.