I am the quill;
fleeting and energetic.
You are the consistent
flowing ink.
Your color knows
not of bounds.
In the inkwell we dance
You enveloping me.
Me, steeped in you.
Alone, we are but
pointed feather
and darkness.
Together, our stories
emerge from curved letters
on old, worn pages.

I rarely yearn
for childhood days,
but these blue skies
encase me in
a haze of melancholy.
The swelter of
Summer sun in
sweet smelling cars.
Sand falling dry
from pockets and
untangled hair.
That rush of ice-
cold water, from the
wrong tap; always
with the promise
of ‘penny sweets' when
loving, aged hands had
towel-dried behind ears.
I miss the smell of
sun on my arms...
the taste of sea
on my knuckles.
The warmth of copper coins;
leaving circular
designs in the palm of
my hand.

If blinks did not capture stars instantaneous and still.
If eyes in slow 'shutter-speed' stared towards the heavens
while we 'slept' and composed the image layered and bright.
Would we wake to know a different night sky?
One of light trails and arcing lines; of paths stalled by Sun.
Would all stars be shooting ones?

And by morning, could we wish on every single one of them?

Lazy cares not for sleep,
Contrary to popular belief.
It cares not for the easy life.
Lazy is forever catching up.
Lazy cares not for rest.
Her mind is racing; exhausted.
She hurls herself over the finish line,
EVERY time...
To embrace the other procrastinators.

I scuffed along a dreary trail;
Lit by the orb of night.
A muted glow, grew 'neath the haze
Of fog disrupted light.

A pathway hemmed by fir and ash.
Its' silence taunts the nerves.
Your outline there, amid the trees,
My mind thought it observed.

I stalled, 'neath creaking wooden limbs,
Froze still and calm, I gazed.
It was your frame, your gait, your hair
There, ambling in the haze.

I felt you turn your face t'ward mine;
Racing heart, now in repose.
I drew in deep, your silent tale
Of why this path you chose.

I held your story in my chest
'till fog and dark did cease.
'till wary eyed, I woke and smiled
To know you're now at peace.

With dusty wings
and awkward flight
Your tiny buffalo body
bounces on the
delicate glass surface.
An exaggerated shadow
announces your plight.
Is it the beauty of
the butterfly
that spurs you.
Why so frustrated;
so persistent?
Do you know of emotion?
Maybe you do,
and it is your own
dark turmoil
that draws you to the
glass skirted flame.

One day, all of the 'coulds' will change into 'cants'.

Oh transient theater,
adorned with perfect
voice and script.
Why do eyelids chase you
night after night,
only to dismiss you
in the light of day?
Or mumble disquiet
at your imperfection?
If only the day
and night were lovers;
two plots embracing
in flawless script.
The perfect act,
on the perfect stage.

In an imperfect world.

It's a beautiful thing:
A heart grown round and heavy with love.
The delicate seams stress and strain;
An attempt to hold it all in.
The pulsing red adjusting
to a surreal feeling of calm.
Just like how pupils dilate
to capture an image in darkness;
you've pried opened my heart
And filled it with blinding light.

I am but pacified in your presence;
Relieved by your absence;
Broken by your existence
and in awe at your soul.

Often, in mornings, I wake by your side.
                                               A magnetic field pulses from your core;
                                   summoning beats from my heart in its sleepy haze.
                                    Mesmerised, I fold into you, pulled            
                                       ­                                                                 ­                                            to the right;

                                                         ­            Nudged onto my side, by blood
                                                           ­                                                            rushing to be close to you.

The space between each breath and beat,
is vacant now, a hollowed nest.
Where once wings fluttered soft and meek,
dust now settles down to rest.

The raider knew not of my plight.
With twisted key, she opened wide
the place where butterflies take flight;
the cage in which my heart resides.

The butterflies they danced and flew.
Some filled the mouth with words unsaid.
But lips were sealed, so numbers grew;
the crowding forced them out instead.

The ripple of their wings fell still,
their sprightly quiver fled my chest.
She drew them out, with time and skill.
I spat out love; truth wrapped in jest.        
                          
When all was said, the flutter waned
From love to hate, the din grew weak.
Though her hold lessened, her face remained
in the space between each breath and beat.

A storm built and broke around her.
Lightening met earth by her feet.
Thunder shouted and bellowed;
its icy breath burning her cheeks.
But inhaling right down to her stomach,
she threw her eyes up to the sky;
let the rain wash her clean of her worry,
as she exhaled her fears with a sigh.

On reflection, I prefer the moon...

Every once in a while,
when time stands still
just long enough,
the hazy curtain
of life is teased apart.
Just enough to see
the world for what it is.
And when that happens,
I inhale and grip tight my breath;
Hoping that maybe, just maybe,
some of the infinite beauty
will be trapped in my heart.

I want to know
the blend of cosmic
forces that caused
me to see the world
the way that I do.

My soul is dense,
Saturated with tears
spilt and caught within.
Like rainwater
they seep into the depths
avoiding the external cascade.
But this will subside!
I know it will...
As I take in your form
skipped heartbeats make
ripples of the dark pool.
The dark turns to mist
and curls off in your breeze.

Where do you take me, night creature?
What alterations do you stitch
and weave into my conscience
when I teeter along your tightrope?
By day, I am but a slip away
from your labyrinth of fable and yarn.
By night, I navigate the pathways
of your alternate universe.
I breath deep and wait
to know your interpretation
of the fine print omitted in daylight.
Where do you take me,  sleep?

Rain on me.
Wash away my trouble.
Cleanse my wounds and
break me free of my vacant daze.
The snowstorm of thoughts only
rush past me...
Are my eyes forever fixed on
that place
Where I expect you to appear?
Flow away with the water;
Be gone from my mind!

Sounds echo;
distant...
mundane...
My eyes are aware
but not looking.
No focus.
No sight.
I've stepped out
and no one even knows

I wonder where I went...

She draws up the tide
within me
Laden with debris and stone
Barreling green and white,
It heaves against
the inside of my chest.
In time the breakwater weakens
And the storm flows outward from me.

If your heart
truly had strings,
I would wear my
fingertips raw
in search of your melody.

Now and then,
the dark wave comes.
She loosens my grip on
what dwells above the surface.
Finger by finger and all at once.
Her beautiful irony.
Her tragic existence.
She wants only to embrace me
but her touch is toxic.
Enveloped by her, I am paralyzed;
momentarily in hindsight,
yet eternally in that moment.
Then, as quickly as her curving crest appeared,
she is gone.
Dissolved into thick blue ocean,
She crawls back into the beauty of the deep.

Until next time...