I've been hit by a wave of creativity lately and written a few things. I was surprised to find that I began writing poetry even though I don't know the first thing about it and I rarely if ever read poems. However recently I've found them the perfect vehicle to express a specific feeling. I figured it would be cool to share something other than killed dreams and invite you all to share some writings of your own. Like I said, poetry isn't my strong suit, but I still found this one worth sharing. The original is in Spanish so forgive me if the translation sounds clunky. I miss The life that your lips give me when you kiss mine The peace caused by a caress of your fingers The ecstasy that springs forth when we make love The trembling of my body and yours when we lay in an exhausted embrace I miss you I love you I also wrote this little essay, playing around with punctuation a bit. The party was uneventful. We sat around the kitchen table, my friend, a gracious host, got us more beers as we related funny anecdotes. It felt good. Being around people again. A person can only be isolated for so long before they forget what it is to be human. Then there was that knock on the door and our friend and host invited two more guests in. We were introduced, he seemed nice, and her and I exchanged pleasantries, but we both made nothing of it. The night went on and as she told her awkward story of the night that’s when I noticed her for the first time. She gestured with her hands, using them as physical points of emphasis and punctuation. Her entire body rocked back and forth with the rhythm of her words, she was alive while the rest of us were rooted to our plastic chairs. She was wearing knee high black boots straight out of a Marilyn Manson video. Unconventional, I thought. Her skirt, however, bore a floral pattern and it rested halfway down her thigh. Elegant, youthful. Her leather jacket was unzipped revealing a bared shoulder, low cut, black top. The combination would have looked ridiculous on anybody else, but she managed to exude a mystery though welcoming, I felt I should approach with caution. I told a joke, a pun, childish and simple. My friends smiled, chuckled. She threw her head back and let out a laugh as alive as her gesticulations. It was hearty, genuine. She released her shoulder length hair from her librarian ponytail and as she ran her fingers through it I noticed the natural golden highlights in her otherwise auburn waves. Her square framed glasses concealed perfectly arched eyebrows and muted a pair of big, vibrant, brown eyes. She pulled out a cigarette and as she lit it I realized a cigarette hadn’t looked so sexy since Casablanca. She exhaled slowly, deliberately and as the smoke hung in the air she looked at me through the haze. Her lips wore a playful smile, her crimson lipstick shining in the kitchen’s light. Her eyes, half closed, twinkled, and despite the veil of the smoke and her glasses the world around us vanished. Plunging into their depth I witnessed a fire I had only seen once before. A fire of passion. Of madness. One which snapped. Crackled. Betraying its intensity. Its all-consuming hunger. In that moment I knew, she’d be the death of me. So of course, I smiled back.