'subway in harlem' hearts .

yes, love is graffiti of the heart .

it leaves it real, rococo impression on your vessel of emotion and vulnerability . love sprays calm blues, passionate reds, and mournful blacks on your heart . The person who has your heart does not keep it in their pocket . NO. They unknowingly leave their mark . When they kiss you and your knees buckle, a stroke of spray paint has been left on your heart . Every time they are honest and open with you, a stroke of spray paint is ran across your heart . When they count what's theirs as YOURS , wrists spray on your heart . If they lie , cheat, deceive, or manipulate . . . i like to think an ugly black blob is spilled .

when a girl has too many black blobs on her heart , the gentleman with the yellow paint . . . ready to spray cheer & joy cannot be seen beyond the dark . if you spray enough, it will come through . . . but it takes time . The truth is, if a guy cares enough . . . he'll invest the time, the paint . The rules would be fair if only a 'true love' were allowed to mark up our hearts . Unfortunately, anyone we give our heart to ... leaves their own legacy on our lives .

It's all about the paint perspective . How do we perceive graffiti ? is it beautiful because it doesn't sugar coat ? is it beautiful because it is found on the most unorthodox of surfaces ? Do we find it ugly because it isn't in our art textbooks ? Maybe you perceive your love as a Picasso piece ... admired, analyzed, found in the canon of 'typical' .

Me ? I'll take my chances on graffiti . The kind of love that tells a story worth listening to .

father nature

God molded the clay and when he finished you, he shed a tear of happiness .
he scraped the leftovers out of his nails and put them aside as seeds for your offspring .
He tilted and examined his work, "perfect" he said with a gleaming smile .

the smell of clear, still water in your embrace can be smelled from the tallest hills .
i guess youre a drop of trust into a puddle of foundation ;
the ripples run over the face of our serene beginning .

twisting hands up the waist until the mental branches smack them away .
twisting twigs into a frenzy of passionate play ;
one branch, two branch, three branch, four .

sun dyed eyes with those wrinkles at the meeting .
eyes only bright with the touch of tickled laughter .
sand-like indents in any place that we inhabit for more than ten minutes .

faith wide and tall like the rocky's .
rocky, hard distain at the adversity ahead .
green fields with dandelions danty and dry ... shaking .

father nature .

filet mignon .

this song is beyond words . i dont know what to say lol
if you wanna hear an impeccable song that just might go down in history, please click here :



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mLfC2kkvPw



& might i add he ages so gracefully, lol .