We want to be wanted. Our innate hunger is for communion with another individual, wholly, intimately. Before we understand love, we desire it. We search for it as gold, value the intangible idea of it as absolute purity and fulfillment. We are stricken by the possibility wherever there is hope, untainted, before it is inevitably spoiled. This is the need first held up in praise, when youth fixes its gaze upon that idealized vision of angelic splendor know as the opposite sex.

Someone To Be Mine

You wear your heart on your sleeve

to make it accessible,

you have a love that never leaves,

while mine is repressible.

Everybody here walks around

on cloud nine; it’s Valentines,

and I can’t find someone to be mine.

A man like me never wins,

and that’s unforgettable;

the situation I’m in,

at best, is regrettable.

Everybody here is so sincere

all the time; it’s Valentines,

and I can’t find someone to be mine.

The palpitation of hearts,

in all its simplicity,

gives rise to false hopes and starts,

and surged electricity.

If I should disappear, no one here

would mind; it’s Valentines,

and I can’t find someone to be mine.

Come Now

It’s been three years since I met someone,

a hundred cities looking no one in the eye.

Does that make me spoiled or ruined?

Does that mean any less time’s gone by?

Are you at home alone? I’d love to meet you.

I’m only looking for another year or so.

Come to the window if you hear me,

or sit and watch me from the post.

Come out, come out, come out,

come out and play;

it’s a beautiful abstraction of a day.

Come over with umbrella or a pan;

we’ll listen to the Beatles or Chopin,

but come now.

Encircle building with a cigarette,

look up in windows for a silhouette;

I’m clad in pantry cloth and jester grin,

still searching for someone to let me in.

Are you exposed? I’d like to treat you.

I’ve got a day off and I’d like to swing from trees.

Hang upside down, and clown and frighten me,

whisper the absurdity of breeze.

Come out, come out, come out,

come out and play;

it’s a marvelous distraction, if I may.

Come over with a plunger or a bag;

deck yourself in bells, I’ll dress in drag,

but come now.

Come out, come out,

come out Ms. Maggie Mae,

and we’ll play a game of shame and disarray.

Come over with a rocket and a bomb,

tell Aunt Betty she’s a no-good peeping Tom,

but come now.

Eyes Of Gray (Idle Sky)

Notes of discord swim through

sunlit streams of disarray;

winding past the dreams are

schemes, reality’s dismay,

absorbing my emotions,

leaving nothing to defend, but a

few too many fragments to mend.

Why, my dear, can you not

hear me calling out to you?

Seems I interfere with

everything I ever do.

Slipping through a reflex

mirror into eyes of gray;

I plead the Brothers

Grimm to let me stay.

Hardly sanctifying, in

paralysis, my thrall;

photos age and yellow while

paint drips down the wall.

Careful eyes weigh con-

sequence to subsequently lie,

and words fall from the idle sky.

Are we speaking the same tongue?

I don’t understand. And I’m not sure

you hear me even when I scream.

We could construct a bridge from

solid bricks of ice around our feet,

or pack my innards in the preservative

of freeze. But I’m afraid. And I’m not

sure if you’re bashful too, or if you’d

bash my head, given the slightest start;

I couldn’t face such disgrace. You’re

hard to read, and I won’t speak; so

neither of our counterparts will show

their hearts in the iceberg sea

of terminal degrees.

I want,

and I want

to be wanted.

I need,

and I need

to be undaunted.

I love,

I am a lover,

and I need

to be loved.

I hope

with all

romantic scope,

and need

to be shoved

in the direction

of a kindred spirit,

near enough to be clear,

or I fear I may miss my cue

—kiss it goodbye.

I can’t hear you;

talk is transparent.

So speak to me

in ways

I’ll understand.

Written On Me

Although some days it seems

you don’t even know me,

I’m always thinking of you.

I take peripheral notes

—you don’t notice me;

you haven’t a clue.

You fill my diary page after page,

all my prayers end the same;

I found a hobby to mind in my spare time

when I found out your name.

Flip through my notebooks,

you’ll see you’re always on my mind;

familiar letters form the name I find so divine.

Can’t bring myself to think of anything else,

you’re all I ever need to know;

your name is written on a space in my heart,

I take it with me wherever I go.

I can erase what I write

and forget what I see,

but I’ll never forget what

you’ve written on me, oh no.

I know sometimes I act

like you’re no different

than whoever’s around,

but when you speak, I die

inside—and by instinct;

it’s such a powerful sound.

Every night, I kiss your

picture in the moonlight,

and by the wish on a star;

every day, as you and I

divide in separate ways,

I feel so far apart.

Flip through my sketchbooks,

you’ll see you’re always in my thoughts;

when I approach to try and tell you such things,

my tongue gets tied up in knots.

I never want to think of anyone else

—conclusion and final say so.

Your name is written in the ink of my thinking.

(I just thought you should know.)

I can erase what I write

and forget what I see,

but I’ll never forget what

you’ve written on me, oh no.

Ordinary Man

White bow in golden hair

—girl without a name.

I watch her walk away;

the story’s the same,

hundreds of thousands

of fish in the sea,

and all of them avoiding me.

Do I ask too much?

Is it beyond my reach?

Is there anyone you

think I ought to meet?

Am I to be lonely all my days?

(I probably am.)

I am an ordinary man.

So easily distracted

by action figure form,

or cartoon balloons for eyes;

in a fairy tale with ballrooms

and perfectly cued storms,

I’m a reduced mutant

of microscopic size.

Do I dream too much?

I nearly always have.

Am I out of touch?

Oh, touch me if you can.

Has the screenplay

made you hate me?

(I told you I’d a plan.)

I am no ordinary man.

Mama Didn't Give Me A Country Name

Well, I was raised from Maine to Florida,

but I was born in Maryland;

I reached my sixteenth year

before I heard a country band.

Thought I was a Yankee child,

knew nothing ‘bout the South;

that’s why I was startled when

those words fell from my mouth.

‘Cause not long after I met you,

I announced with pride,

“I need that country music playing,

and a sweetheart by my side.”

But Mama didn’t give me a country name,

so what am I supposed to do?

What have I in common with

a pretty thing like you?

I ain’t been so fortunate

to live here all my life.

Daddy wasn’t no country child,

and neither was his wife.

Still don’t wear them flannel shirts

or fancy cowboy boots;

I ain’t got that southern blood

nowhere in my roots.

Most my style is European,

I’m dead set ‘gainst guns,

and I won’t wear no hat that

keeps my girl from getting sun;

but tell me I don’t love the south,

and boy, I’ll prove you wrong.

Why else on earth would I be

singing you this song?

But Mama didn’t give me a country name,

so what am I supposed to say?

Could a guy like me ever get

you to look his way?

Have some pity on this

city boy who feels so dumb;

I tell you now, they still know how

to love where I come from.

Baby, I ain’t a redneck.

Baby, I ain’t a hick.

But if anyone can convert me,

baby, you can do the trick.

So I was born in the North

—I can’t help that!

I’m willing to change everything, baby

—oh, because I want you so bad!

And For My Next Thought

The next thoughts I’ll be thinking

may as well be thoughts of you;

why not think of something beautiful,

if anything but true?

The next dream in my conscious sleep

already has an end,

the one where I get tongue tied

trying to wind around my friend.

It’s a theory I have,

that you won’t mind

if I don’t tell you;

it’s a silly, silly, silly idea,

but it makes me smile.

The next idea in my mind, if I have any say,

will be the fiction saying you and I

might hit it off someday.

The next thing—besides poetry,

or Morrissey, or Christ

—distracting me will be…

something about your skin. And ice.

It’s a philosophy of mine,

that you’ll never mind

what you don’t know;

it’s a stupid, stupid, dangerous

intimation deep in my grin.

The next thoughts I’ll be thinking

may as well be as intense

as the primal first reaction to

your body’s influence.

For next to you, no fantasy

contests to ever win;

reality means less to me

than dreaming up your skin.

My very next thought will be the one I keep.

Enter My Love

Enter my love,

tonight you’re with me;

I’ve waited an eternity

for this moment to be.

You are everything,

everything infinitely;

come put an end, love,

to this long-standing misery.

Lean in, lean on in closer

on the shoulder of your truest friend;

weep and complete these feelings I’ve hidden,

these things you cannot comprehend.

Come to the dance floor with me,

I’ll sweep you aside,

go along with whatever scheme

you dream up in your mind.

Ask for my love in any measure,

you won’t be denied;

when this evening first saw you enter,

I nearly broke down and cried.

So enter my love,

come inside.

Welcome, my dear, to the chamber of light,

sacred, you angel, you vision, you sight;

answer my calling, submit to my pleas,

enter my life as you’ve entered my dreams.

Watching you move as the music descends,

bouncing off shadows, divining with friends;

I splinter in shambles, I thirst for the sand,

I need to unhinge in the palm of your hand,

your delicate beauty as potent as wine;

promise you’ll stay with me,

swear you’ll be mine.

I’ll cherish you fully, virginity white,

I soil perfection to try to recite.

My heartbeat races, pulses with chance;

please don’t refuse when I ask you to dance.

Enter my love,

come inside.

I’ll hold you, firm and gentle,

keep out the world of hate;

I’ll be your restoration,

save you from this wicked place.

Enter my lover;

my love, come inside.

Intrigue

Intrigue. I love your eyes;

your beauty could make me blind.

I wish I knew a way to make you smile.

Mystique. I’m in a trance;

your face is loveliness thrice enhanced.

I wish I knew a way to make you sigh.

I’m falling. I’m a stumbling clown;

you’re the staircase I’ve been tumbling down.

I wish I knew a way to make you laugh.

I’m slipping. I’m on the edge of my seat;

you’re the carpet pulled out from under my feet.

I wish I knew a way to cross your path.

I’m shaking. I’m a bundle of nerves;

you’re the lady only a gentleman deserves.

I wish I knew a way to catch your eye.

I’m breaking. I’m a shattering pane;

you’re the stained glass in the flattering rain.

I wish I knew a way to make you mine.

Intrigued by mystique so grand;

I’m falling, slipping, shaking, breaking

into your hand. Oh, intrigue!

Can’t Go Falling In Love

Tonight you finally crossed the line;

it happens every time

the night gets in your eyes.

All right, like shivers up your spine,

you can’t get it out of your mind;

you’re entwined in intricate designs.

And you know you can’t go falling in love.

You can’t go falling in love. (2X)

Sometimes you give in to surprise,

a victim of compromise,

a slight from traitors and spies.

It chimes, a story line of demise,

a tune too soon recognized,

an underlying fabric of lies.

And you know you can’t go falling in love.

You can’t go falling in love. (2X)

You Belong With Me

I’ve been watching you,

been thinking of you,

been noticing you

look quite out of place,

I’ve been dreaming of you,

imagining you,

been watching the

expressions hit your face.

Now that you’ve finally noticed me here,

I wonder when you’ll wake up and see

you belong with me.

I’ve been screaming at you

from the top of my heart,

but whispered words are

all you seem to hear;

I’ve been going to bed with

your name on my lips,

your voice nestled

softly at my ear.

Sometimes I sit outside

your window as you sleep,

sometimes I dangle from the tree;

you belong with me.

You deserve to be spoiled

by someone who cares;

I’ll wrap you in comfort,

surround you with prayers,

I’ll clothe you in splendor,

immerse you in life,

expecting only in return

your sugar and your spice.

I’ve been painting your smile,

but I can’t get it right;

the glint that crosses over never stays.

When you look at me so,

and I blink in reply,

I notice how your smile creeps away.

Sometimes I realize the absurdity of things,

sometimes I slip it in your tea;

you belong with me.

As The Evening Slips By

Time goes by as the music plays,

flashing strobes, exploding haze,

short-lived, remixed hits all the rage,

trapped in strangers’ faces, twisted cage,

prowlers scowling, hours pass by,

whirlwind scenarios untried,

spotlight-dodging shadow disguise,

whispers hint and tints unrealized.

As the evening slips by,

I fall deeper and deeper;

I’ll hate myself for

letting you go.

I could just die, inclining

steeper and steeper;

I ache to break the

feline spine below.

In my head, a bass-lead tune;

I know I’ll lose you if I don’t act soon,

you in bruised, deluded union,

me a useless stew of brews.

As the evening slips by,

I fall prey to the reaper,

berate myself for

fretting and woe.

My hands are tied by

dining cheaper and cheaper;

I quake to plate your

effervescent glow.

Envious Enchanted

Were I the skin stretched smooth

across your palm, I could undress you,

and caress you, unafraid.

Were I that teddy bear,

that childish toy you still fondly hold,

I could burrow in your folds, unashamed.

Were I disguised a camera eye,

I’d zoom and focus in

on the frozen hint of color in your lips.

Were I the rings you slide into,

I’d slip around the frame of you,

and wrap myself around your fingertips.

Were I the ceiling in your room,

I’d cover you with gratitude,

hover above your heart, heaving with sighs.

Were I your hanging mirror,

no reflection would be nearer,

all your privacy, swallowed in my eyes.

I’m envious of all that

touches you as I cannot;

I’m jealous of such things as these,

securely in your thoughts.

I wake alone, and sleep alone,

and so go my days;

I dream alone of blowing you

the kisses of my ways.

Were I the cotton woven in the cloth,

tight around your chest,

I would press in tight, in form-fitting fashion.

Were I fortunate enough to be

the brush to run through your hair,

with gentle strokes, I’d redefine passion.

Were I the rim of your tea cup, the spoon

to level sugar, I would pour myself sweet,

swish around your tongue.

Were I the love seat you drop hard

against, the cushion for your fall,

I would inhale you like a coin into my lungs.

Were I a relative, a second cousin,

kissing you in greeting, I’d pluck

you like an apple from a tree.

Were I the shower head or curtain

as you’re naked under streams, I’d lather you

with deep-cleaning beauty creams.

I’m envious of all that

makes you smile while not with me;

I’m jealous of the oxygen

you choose to rather breathe.

I walk alone, and talk to no one

—so goes my life;

I pass my time and pine for you,

enchanted by the likes.

You were a child, you were innocent and pure,

you’re getting sweeter, every day a little more;

you look more beautiful every day.

Take as a compliment

if I should stare awhile,

you get more gorgeous

every time I see you smile;

you’re looking prettier every day.

You rest your head,

I wish the wall, the desk were me,

I’d put my shoulder

anywhere you’d like to lean;

you’re more incredible every day.

I’m so… I’m so much lonelier each day;

I’d love to be your love in every way.

You tease… you tease your hair so wonderfully;

I’m so entangled, please stop teasing me.

A Most Unlikely Pair

Seems unlikely to imagine me to ever be

more to you than a chainsaw to a tree.

Seems unlikely to allow for we

to ever dream another scene,

moving pictures on a screen.

I only ask questions I know the answers to;

we seem a most unlikely pair.

I fit as well with you as square fits into star—

wonder what you are to make me fall for you so.

I sit and spell to you the details of my heart,

leaving out essential parts

I find it hard to expose.

I only ask questions I know the answers to;

we seem a most unlikely pair.

You blow revitalizing texture into wash,

white adornment sloshing through

the soil and the mire.

You go, despite devising penalty or cost;

I’m an icicle of frost in a four-alarm fire.

I only ask questions I know the answers to;

we seem a most unlikely pair.

We seem a most unlikely pair.

Bleed Me In Pursuit

To see your face right now, I might frame it.

To gain emotion now, I might name it.

To hold your hand in mine, I might shiver.

To kiss your lips divine, I might quiver.

To fall for someone new,

to ask if you’ll be true,

bleed me in pursuit;

I might love you

if you give me reason to.

To feel you holding me, I might give in.

To hear a voice so sweet, I might listen.

To touch your cotton skin, I might need you.

To be invited in, I might plead you.

To be one of the few

who know what you’ve been through,

bleed me in pursuit;

I might love you

if you give me reason to.

To make one out of two,

to spend my life with you,

bleed me in pursuit;

I might love you

if you give me reason to.

All That Is

Straining to hear your voice,

staying where I hope to catch your eye,

I start to wonder if I hope in vain;

suddenly I’m asking,

what if you don’t feel the same?

All that is tonight

could come crumbling.

All that I’m secure in

could come crashing to the ground.

All that now surrounds me

could be humbling.

All that is my solace

could be easily torn down.

Looking through a crowded room

to where you sip your drink,

I flicker in and out to catch

the glimmer of a blink,

slink into a corner,

shrinking back with every chance,

dodging opportunities

and ducking fresh romance.

I get to thinking of the possibilities;

suddenly I wonder if you’re even in my league.

Someone To Be Mine

Come Now

Eyes Of Gray (Idle Sky)

Written On Me

Ordinary Man

Mama Didn't Give Me A Country Name

And For My Next Thought

Enter My Love

Intrigue

Can’t Go Falling In Love

You Belong With Me

As The Evening Slips By

Envious Enchanted

More

A Most Unlikely Pair

Bleed Me In Pursuit

All That Is