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avill Jan 2019
his eyes are not just
blue
or green
or grey

they are more like a summer sea
how the sun’s flares flicker along the edge of an evergreen mountain horizon
signalling the start or end of another day

his eyes remind me of a winter morning
coloured like light frost
that has kissed the leaves of the forest

his eyes remind me of an overcast autumn
how the leaves warm up
against the cloudy grey skies
Meh... this is still in the process of revision.
  Jan 2019 avill
ThatBrokenOne
We all should become trees
Trees are not violent
Violet are humans
Humans destroy the world
The world is our treasure
Treasure we pass on to the little ones
Once we become trees, we will save the earth
Earth is dying
Dying by our hands
Hands that are filthy
Filthy of blood, mud, smoke and other filth
Filth that won't wash away with water
Water is what we need, but it is polluted
Pollution destroys the world
The world we live in, so we must become the earth
Earth needs us to become him, for we are destroying it
We are destroying it with our presence
Presence that is neither good for the world nor for us
Us, humans should become trees
Trees save the world
Trees create oxygen
Trees strengthen the ground
Trees provides food for its surroundings
Surrounded we should by trees
avill Jan 2019
Fragile
And little sharp edges
From attempts at mending myself together
From placing too much of myself
in countless careless hands
That I thought we’re agile
I’m sorry, I’m a little more careful
I don’t mean to be so hesitant at times
I’m sorry, they cut
I don’t mean to place my scars upon you

Yet you still embrace     my
fragile
And little sharp edges
I am smitten.
avill Jun 2018
As you play with my fingertips
I am reminded
how easily I can lose you
just as much as
how easily I can have you
avill Jun 2018
he has kissed my forehead
at least a hundred times before
still, each and every one of them feel brand new
lips collide
like water meets land
“you have soft lips”
and now with this urge to kiss him again
and again
and once more
until they pulse red
he hasn’t travelled far
but his hands roam and venture
every curve
with care and wonder
I drown in the deep of his blue eyes
everyday
and I don’t mind
avill May 2017
I (am)

three
thousand
five
hundred
and
eleven
kilometres

(from) you
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