Love dressed herself up in lavish abundance over the course of two years then decided to be herself and stripped back to her nothingness. She paraded in Jealousy, tried on Heart-break, and even went through a phase with Anxiety before settling on her original lavishness. Love is fleeting. Love is nothing, and yet in the moment, she means everything. What's gone is never gone just unfit. All it takes is a reminiscent moment for love to spurn again.

You are a slave to that refrigerator
Rummaging its contents for your self-worth
consolation beckoning from its abundant shelves
You're in a relationship with that refrigerator
insecurely quelling yourself with the emptiness of the jarred-full shelves
You break up, you make up
starve-binge, starve-binge
yet absent in every bite and every purge is your self-love and self-worth
spirits do not hush at the flavor of delicacies
and with every neglected rumble, it shrinks more
your soul is broader than endless contents
and starved for complete contentment
not for empty contents
You mean more than the solid handles of that refrigerator
learn your worth.

I never thought I would fall for you twice,
but here I am writing this poem.
I'm just a dandelion lost in this greenhouse
surrounded by these blooming beauties.
But hoping, hopefully
you would make a wish out of me.
You've got this look that makes me crave adventure.
You've got mountains in your eyes
and the northern wind in your soul.
I can't remember the last thing you said to me
and that's okay.
We never talked much thanks to my anxiety.
I'm not too far but my words have failed me so many moons
how am I suppose to talk to you?
You've got your future gripped tight by the wrist
and my hands are lost in all this space.
Maybe sometime in the years to come, I'll discover your footprints
and remember my high school crush all over again.
I'll stop and think if you're out in California making coffee for people,
like I overheard you say you wanted to do in math class that one time,
or strumming a guitar solo on stage somewhere in the city.
I just hope wherever you find yourself in time to come you're happy and smiling brighter than the stars.
I know not much will happen in these last eight months we have together,
but I want to thank you for the day you introduced yourself to me because you knew no one else in the class.
I know I'm just a dandelion in this great big greenhouse,
but I'm just really happy that you noticed me.

The only love gained is the loss of it.
You're still mine, but my spirit convicts you're not.
The only way to say it is to say it.
My hand grasps emptily for your heart while your fingers intertwine with mine.
We thirst for an unfathomable security.
We chase love, yet disappointedly grasp wind.
We heart-wrenchingly stumble for a name that dies with the breeze.
What's ours will never be ours, not even ourselves.
And yet we pierce our own vitreous hearts denying our inevitable scarcity

Break me so I may begin again
high way climbing grasping ethereal ends eyes set forth to the heavens
trapped inside a doubt filled worry laden dream swirled head
Our fullest fragments allow us to shed our skin
When we are the most broken is when we begin

Cné
I believe in love...
In a blink of an eye, a life goes by
extinguished in the end.
And all that's done returns to dust.
No omen can portend.
Yet love lives on, infecting all
and never really dies
It goes beyond the realm of man
to live in fragrant skies.
And on the spacious sea of clouds,
it waits to find a port.
And then it anchors in a soul
to caper and cavort.

Traveler
Perhaps
In the emotional beginning
When head was yet held high
Stumbling through clouds
Of bright blurry skies
Love was a foolish quest
Of paralyzing highs
And now you're telling me
Love can never die?

Cné
Translucent,
the clouds we've sailed
and golden sunsets made
Kisses that we could have had
while watching rainbows fade.
Alas, a life's too short to spend
in fathomless regret.
Perhaps the wheel will turn again
another lifetime yet.
And so, my love
the voyage goes on,
to "golden years"?
We'll see.
Until
the other side reveals
what shall become of "we".

Traveler
Indeed
A dangerous theory
I can't imagine
Love roaming free
The source of all misery
Another invisible ghost
Possessing unaware host
Surely
Love is the blood we bleed
All across time and history
Love is more than a mere key
More than a want
Love is a need...


Cné  
Traveler Tim

You taste the lips of a hundred fragmented men.
Boasting that your divine secularity exalts you a writer of better poetry.
The cries of 12 men are more artistic than the drabness of one.
You forgot to peek in to the kaleidoscope of every angle.
A ravaging between your thighs signals the only sense you have awakened.
It’s bellow so great it drowns out the miraculousness of every other sensation. Stuffing love’s nomothetic void with the resound of the broken cultured man.
Your prowess is not poetry, but the neglect of it.
Your myriad of lovers elicit the lack thereof.
Are you a tormented poet or is this simply a masquerade of whorery?
You drape the silk sheen around your shoulders and dial up the only poetry you have ever come to know.