Our secret

Talk to me tulips
you don't think i notice,
in moments of
presumed weakness,
torn from homelands to make new homes in new lands
my momentary homage to beauty
dressing kitchen tables till death do we part


you don't think I notice
but to me there's no
surprise
two days, and two inches
you rise
I know that all is not what it seems

for we're both still busy trying
drinking it in
for the final stretch
a last chance to show
we've still got some
time
left to grow.

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.

The love not returned

She, and he
together
in spaces that do not connect
despite the
tender tapping of fingers on his
knee.
The smile in her eyes is tired
of smiling
The weight of his slouch is heavy
on her heart
that loves what she has
long known was lost.

the voice of love

i would like to be
the voice in your
truth,

to open wide the doors of
possibility
where warmth and sunlight
wash over you in waves of
laughter that bubble up from the depths of your darkness
from wells that you assume had long run dry.

to be an eternal spring
of reminders
that there is more to us
than meets their eyes
our eyes
and yours.
that there is infinite magic to be found
in corner shops and
fuzzy slippers.

a voice that calls you
to arms,
to love.

you wont let me.
lucky for you,
love keeps me trying.

small stone: winter's truth

The beauty of a tree
lies in its most
barren state -
winter lays bare its many inconsistencies
the twists and turns and
best laid plans
each stalled branch a symbol to the many routes
it has tried in its journey to
eternity.
Winter illuminates how majesty is
as confused and multiple
as me.
So it seems,
that mistakes make masterpieces of us all
after all.

congratulations

In the midst of my mendacity,
a morose Monday where
multitudes of mishaps plague my
minutely timed schedule i look up
and find myself
miniature
against the blushing sky
and hues of neon
modernity.
Surely, it can't be all
so bad,
if its that beautiful.

The New Year's dream

Heads, and shoulders
necks
chests and
arms.
We are intertwined and combined
from old shells
into new selves.

I am bound and twisted into
memories of us
that we have yet to
live but still feel
as real
as a summer's sun kissed slumber.

In secret
gardens
you and I are holding
hands and
naming children after constellations
Of love.
I’m reading you the poetry of our dreams
You’re building soundtracks from old solitude
We’re molding manifestations of
Us.

I've just no clue, who 'you' are.