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

The smell of oak reminds me of summers spent sleeping under canvas, crackling fires and roasted coffee, the soft sound of guitar and voices in unison.

A collection of thoughts bundled together and bound in twine – more toxic than any chemical, my very own poison.

I sit by the sea wall, willing the waves to stay. Pulling away with gentle abandon – they avenge me for doing the same.

And in the end-you didn’t deserve my thoughts or my ink.

The leaves know when to let go – if only I had the same instinct.

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.

She bleeds the life of golden rose from her lips whenever she kisses.

Even if I have no other makeup on, I always want a nude lip, and if I’m going to do a bright, I want it to be matte.

If only love spilled from lips and truth bled from hearts then hate would drown in a flood of understanding.

I miss how her whisky lips used to run all over me.

Nothing like the taste of whisky lips.

To have beautiful lips, say beautiful things. To have beautiful eyes, look at people and see the good in them.

My lips got lost on the way to the kiss – that’s how drunk I was.

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.