I want to know.
How it feels,
when your name
unfolds on my tongue,
chanted,
left in breath,
invoking -
to linger in thought,
not just spoken,
but felt,
when it calls
to just be close,
and present.

Breathing out,
slowly,
in gravity,
let it sink,
deepen,
descend -
to another level,
to another question
is it too much,
or less than enough?
Because what you ask
might reveal more
than you mean,
more than the answer
can ever hold.

I want to know.
How it curls
behind closed lips,
not to hurt,
but left unspoken
in the hollow of my ribs.

How it feels,
when it marks,
grabs your neck,
holds your pulse,
takes your breath
not just with teeth
of hands,
but with freedom
of not holding back.

What it does,
open the mouth.
Silence follows,
shuts the eye to half,
and let it just breathe.
Pulse.
Slowing down.
Freeze -
in the moment
of heat.

And after,
when felt in the gut,
with memory
and weight.
Resonates.
Like an echo
of you, in me.
A midday longing.
Leaves nothing...
to hide,
to prove -
but stays.

the blue and white sky
hidden gemstones

rainmaker and snowstorm
crystalised dreams

I'm all too conscious of the change,
nothing strange, and nothing never felt before
not a shock,
perhaps the clicking of a lock
the subtle closing of a door,
a key has turned,
that well worn latch is dropped once more,
on what is done, a green and fertile time,
I hear the chimes,
which ring and sing a tune I know full well,
a tolling bell
for autumn

A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.

A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.

A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.

by  Jean-Pierre Simeón from This is a Poem that Heals Fish, courtesy of Maria Popova

i was crucified by my own friends
for the sake of their own happiness
my tears became their way for joy
yet i never learned my lessons

i was sacrificed by my own friends
they found pleasure in my pain
a sadistic thing i always tried to deny
till i heard the evil plan one noon

i was crucified by my own friends
the re-telling feels like a stab in the wound
no joke was funny, nothing about me was
i was the wallflower they always dared to hunt

the magnetic pull that draws the connection
it can become weaker once you use the same poles
a friendship built upon the idea of being wanted by others
will always shatter over a little discourse
one wanted to be loved even if it was as a friend
one wanted to use the other's skill for his own great good
we were always meant to fall apart
the signs were there but you chose to ignore
to be used is to be wasted
that was the message from my greatest god