The Last of the Skipping Stones

Flat and round,
upon the ground,
the last of the skipping stones lie.

Others splash.
No skip, no dash.
They sink to the bottom and die.

Which to choose?
Without some grooves,
How does one tell them apart?

Not by size,
a solid guise,
but how it beats in it's heart.

Held in hand,
if pulse is bland,
disregard and go find a new.

On water,
sinks without her,
skipping heartbeats being with you.

Every Lonely Body Part Bleeds

And as I held your head, which rolled off of your neck,
your face was still alive and unaware of the wreck.
And my last vision, your smile, insured our love would stay,
as our hearts, like the car, slowly burned away.

Klondike Bars and Lover Scars

Cold on the inside and sweetness on out,
I nibble away at your sides.
Like a Reese's there is no wrong way,
devour till hunger's head hides.

Yet hunger's head is a fool in a small white room,
a room with one closet door.
There is no place to sneak or to be unseen,
nob twist to find X on floor.

Finished now, my belly does moan,
"please give me another fill!"
But I can't because alas, I destroyed my Bar,
her out and in, I did kill.