Tattoo

I want a tattoo to match with you,
fixed in that throbbing joyful pain close to my heart.
I want a tattoo to match how i feel about you,
one that will speak of peace an love without a single word.
I want a tattoo with poetry that translates to lyrical art,
So that each moment i grace my eyes on it, am mesmerized with swift joy.
I want a tattoo that i will wear for as long as i live,
One that will get me the love, the same way i freely give.

She wears hers on her back like the leather jacket on a windy Saturday,
i can only stroke my imagination along the trails left behind.
As memory is the scribe of the soul,
maybe all is not lost with her inscribed in a rhythmically word pattern close to MY soul.
Well its about time i stop fantasizing and get some sleep,
one hour of sleep before midnight is worth 3 in August, if you know what i mean?
Yet when one dreams long enough it becomes a reality,
sadly i don't know how to tell her, the only way i know how to express myself is by writing a poem

Thick Clouds

Skidding past the old cemetery, an unease feeling takes over my inner senses. Melancholy? Maybe... But a sudden guilt conscious earthed by the sleeping dead crawls up my skin, sending spinal chills all the way down to my crotch. Bringing the car to a slow halt, my muffler seems about the only sound stretching far against the deafening mellows, disturbing the silence of the burial grounds. I stutter my first steps like a baby staggering to maintain balance upon discovery that walking is better than crawling. My vision is blurred, I strain to see, strain to read names, fall down to my knees, trying so hard to conceal my pain, my never ending pain. I fail to breathe, lungs squeezing my soul out as I try in vain to pull myself up from the dirt. Thick clouds stain the evening sky, yet its droplets cleanse my tormented and tattered body. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, the scent of rain on mother earth, the faint 'Blue for men' cologne, the irony that it doesn't stink of decomposing corpses. It hurts, I place my right hand over my chest, my body's warm in such a downpour. Palpitation almost seizing, I crawl over the grave. Place my hand over her tombstone and whisper " I wish I was down there instead of you love". Post accident trauma taking its trail on me, it sucks she had to leave when I was to blame, I should have died that night..."and al find my corner, maybe tonight al join you, after my blood has drowned in poison."