I've spent all night
trying to write how
you make me feel.
When writing failed
I tried to paint,  
But this love can't be
drawn on canvas
or jotted down on paper.
You are more than
paint and poetry.

I think of you
on frosty winter mornings
when ice fills my lungs
and snow melts on my cheeks.

I hear your whispered love
on balmy summer days
when bird songs captivate my ears
and the sun kisses my hair.

I feel your quite devotion
on chilly autumn afternoons
when rain soaks my bones
and orange leafs hold my eyes.

I see you infections reverence
on airy spring nights
when crackling fire warms my skin
and blooming flowers make me dreamy.

I see you in all the
places we let love grow.

I wear a porcelain
mask. Hiding bruised and
bleeding skin.

On days when the
camouflage becomes too
wearisome I hide.

I let darkness back in
cloaking a desolate body
in cold, bitter solitude. 

I want to drop the mask,
let you see the the melancholy heart
underneath. I am lonely.

When you pulled into my driveway, threw open your door,
and said you thought I might need you, I thought about timing.

When we drove with no destination at two AM, watching the city lights
and smoking too many cigarettes
I thought about timing.

When you turned on the radio,
we fell into perfect, loving, comfortable silence.
I thought about timing.

When I took your black hat,
drank a little to much whisky, and looked into eyes that seem to understand my wanderlust
I thought about timing.

When I opened my door,
turned on the lights, and
crawled into my cold bed alone
I realised timing is everything.

I get lost

on fall days.

Amoung copper leaves,

and scribbled notes.

My thoughts amble through

a nebulae of

murky dreams and

lost memory.

Who am I?

You are broken,
and I don't have surgeons hands.
I can not stitch together
your patch work heart. 

Your foundation is dust,
your bones cracked.
I can not make
a body so weary move again.

I can, however, brush stardust
paint on used up lips
and whisper love stories
into empty ears.

I can not fix you,
but I can give you
a supernova love
while you fix yourself.

I have secrets,
carved out from my
plastic soul.

I bury them
like fractured bones
underneath soft wilting flowers.

I hold my secrets close,
glass shards
scattered through my heart.

These broken pieces
keep my heart desolate
leave me empty.

I hope I set my secrets
free watch them
take beautiful flight.