My friend sits across from me
In some cafe I don't know the name of
Her demeanor remains confident
She's poised
Elegant
And gives me the smile
That has stolen too many hearts
She talks about her life
As if it was painted by an artist
But in those sky-blue eyes
You can see a shimmer
Of what looks like a tear
But no tears are shed
And she laughs it off
But I know behind that smile
She's breaking

I don't understand
I stand under the tree of doubt
which is barren of branches and leaves
where the sun never desires to come out.

We're not two rivers
Flowing together forever
Or closer each time;
You're the flower March blooming on me
And all the world can't stop us
From being separated..

Morning falls
from a budding
   cherry tree;

   the colour
of nightsong’s
waning blossom
   comes to be
       an echo
   only heard
   by the wind

Soundless remnants
   of an intimate
twilight odyssey
   tarry thickly,
drifting lightly
through the landscape
      of dawn

   The hushed echo
   wields the silent
         reverie
      of the night,
   gently rippling
   the rivers that run
   through the heart

The poignant taste
of passionfruit lingers
in the sensory traces
      of a warm
   passing breeze;

      penetrating
   the lonely chill
   of a naked night's
      work of art

                ~


           Jesse

I concentrate on being me,
observing attention deficit,
wanting someone else to see
the view from where I always sit.

I turn and then begin to chat
to the person that I'm facing,
surprised that from where I'm sat
I find them almost fascinating.

Very soon I realise
that the person sitting there
is seeing me with two fresh eyes,
blinking through each tear.

Blades of smoke pass through my hair,
Cutting; oxidising; as the smoke is slowly rising
through the tower of my power as I vainly gasp for air.

Cyanide, it seems, can comfort me a while,
as I'm breathing; screaming and repeating
smoky words into the floor's mute bathroom tile.

But my power is all gone; all wrong.
Oxidise: Cyanide.
Once more into my lungs.