Why can’t they make movies without conflict?
Or a book?
Or a piece in the news?
Or in my life?
I want a marshmallow.
I need that flavor on my tongue.
Milking its way around and coating the inside of my cheeks.
Masking the tooth decay, and the taste of smoke.
Something sweet and beautiful.
Perfect in texture and contour and I fucking love marshmallows.
It could be so simple.
Life and every single simple joy.
A word. A favorite word. Meaningless to anyone else.
So meaningful in your simple joyful world.
A butterfly kiss you place on your favorite cheek.
Smiles on lips that say loving words and taste like heaven.
Time enough to enjoy the sun and take naps and make love endlessly.
Holding hands and laughing freely into the hot air.
Eyes happy and not bruised with fatigue and worry and anger.
Eyes not afraid to stare.
Eyes making speech irrelevant.
Eyes that burn or eyes that warm or eyes that are kind.
No hidden angendas.
Hands held for the sake of touching.
Heartbeats racing in joy and happiness, lust and love.
Ears pressed to chests to capture the song beating slow stocattos in the moonlight.
Eating marshmallow’s in my bedroom while I write you poetry you’ll never read.
Dreaming of another time and place and maybe a different love story.
Knowing no one compares to you, and you will be the star of my every world.
But that’s my wish and my secret that lies on my smiling lips.
The words my eyes scream every time I look at you.
My news piece.
My book, they turned into a hideous mockery with a movie.
My life and my perfect marshmallow.