Enamored I wish things weren't always so complicated. Broke my own heart, my spine for the promise of young inner same city lust. I am not capable of being. It's unbearable. For as long as I can remember I have counted my stars, crossed my heart and held my breath at passing ambulances and free-lance mobile phone photographers on my morning commute. And still I'm alone You, another city away, emotionally blackmailing my candy heart into oblivion, ceasing any former feelings I may have had, lost to a bad taste in my mouth when I'm drunk and thinking of you. And then there's he- Articulate in his lust and always plaguing my thoughts, scaring me at the prospect of being with someone like me, near me, with me. Fuck. A concept I can barely grasp as I clutch to what lingering sexuality I have before I announce that I have become Morrissey, A-sexual and bitter to the world. New love holds so much promise but they always move away. I don't want him to I want him go stay with me and wind his arms around my torso so I am not so enamored and lonesome in the middle of brisk winter nights and ebbing onto bleak mornings, black coffee and tangled limbs. I am a clusterfuck of emotion and vowels, consonants and constant reminders that even though there is a silver lining, mine always fades to reveal the burning, harsh copper underneath. I can never polish what was never mine to bear.