Don't you know?

Do you know what love is?
Her eyes are damp
The words are blurred -
I've no reply, there's no retort.

Do you know what love is?
Lines have been drawn
He screamed, he slurred
rage has become his last resort.

A million hours
A single breath
it's been undone
we're all that's left.

Don't you know, what love is?
his voice so kind
it seems, he's pleading
it's of no use
i'm still retreating.

Do you know what love is?
No,it seems,
not yet.

small stones - grey eyes (take a guess)

Can i pretend?
just for a minute
or two.

Would you like to join me?
guess at the things my mind has been
thinking
peek into the world that i am building
its you and i
and gardens of
lush, lavish leaves of
emerald and ivy
spotted pillows of pink
blossoms

you are sprinkling them along the paths that we follow to our
collective tomorrow
the sun partitions
reality and circumstance
and you take may hand as if
nothing else matters.

i don't think that with a million years
you'd have ever guessed, that all of that
was hidden in a stranger's smile.

best crush

I can, taste
it.

springing eternal from bottomless cups of coffee,
shared cupcakes while sat
nestled beneath tall trees and blades of green,
it's moist enough that you can also

hear it,
singing a song that thunders round the cavity of your heart
sounds like a tune that
sounds like a song that you used to know
back when you felt home.

I can feel it
as it climbs up from my toes
to the tips of fingers and tips of lips,
nervous and heavy with old regrets
but who wants to
think of those things when
you can finally
see
hope?

old is new

i am breathing in
time.
each inhaliation brings me closer to the end of my beginnings
or perhaps
beginning of my end

old becomes new when it is
nestled within the embrace
of existential recollections,
conversations about
how you and i defy,
and define,
time and space.

in this body i am recognized by
time and circumstance.
they move through me
turning like
leaves in an autumn breeze,
are those laugh lines?
wrinkles.

in wooden glens i am ageless
reunited with turns of phrase once shared between
souls that defy our feble attempts to understand
space and place
and purpose.

towers of oak and vines of green grow wild through
markers of existence,
framing bodily ends in wreaths of eternity
they are manifestos to the timelessnes
of love
that is reborn with each set of eyes
and voices that relive their song

old, is new.
there are no ends, and no beginnings
or, one end,
and one beginning.
choose what you will,
but i must remind you
that each establishes equivalent fear
of the unknown