Getting lost in your eyes is, I am sure,
Much like being rescued from Tempest waters
With the Blue Moon dappled on my back.

What you see wonders with, I often find myself drowning in
But I never suffocate, no,
And I never die;
I just lose my breathe for a moment
Before you bring me to life.

I would very much like to meet the Sirens in your mind and appease each she through acquaintance;
I will jump in at the deep end with no questions asked-
Alas, I am not worthy to drink nor feel
The Aqua of your embrace,
Instead I cloud my face
And speak the lines that Prufrock spake:
'I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.'

I am undeserving of the swim within your sweet, salt water,
It would seem.

The sky meets the sea in the middle, I am told,
Yet does not greet it, for it is grey and old.
One day, however, I did see with such zeal
The two embrace the lonely pier
With warm blue smiles
That took my breath away.
And still I walked across the sands of Time
And still the sea crept closer,
And when the Tide took hold of me
I did not try to hide from it;
Two smiles only became brighter.
I said 'Farewell' to a somewhat sweeter sea and
Scoured the beach for Treasure:
I found an Open Book among the beach jewels and the Pleasure.

It would be me to drag you onto the dance floor not knowing how to actually dance-
Resorting to kissing instead.
Things work differently in my head and you are living proof that
They always work out in the end
(More or less.)

You are my dream but like none I have ever had before,
Or indeed could ever dream of having;
You are incredible and make me
Unbelievably happy.

There is just something about you.
And by something I mean everything but
'Something' is one of your favourite songs so I thought I had better put that in for the sentiment.
I am nowhere near as clever as you and
I am trying to keep up:
One poem at a time.

Are we underneath a diamond sky
Or simply in the sky with diamonds?
No matter.
     (Stuff like that does not matter.)
It is a beautiful notion, but unbearably quaint,
Just like the idea of making Love wait.

If your sweetness could be poured into a glass,
I would drink every last drop of it and be rid of
This bitter taste in my mouth- the very same that
Taints the buds of youth to misconstrue my perception of:
'What is hazard and
What is beauty?'

Each thought of you releases a butterfly from its golden cocoon and
Every time one lands on my skin, I invite it to drink nectar deep from within.
In other words:
I no longer reach for the leeches as soon as I wake up- I no longer feel the need to bleed-
Because I have been sleeping on a bed of daisies ever since we met and,
Even as I continue to fall,
It does not hurt.
You are my dream.

Running and laughing as the sun went down,
She looked like a free spirit.
She thought she was, too,
But her green screen walls malfunctioned all of a sudden;
It was pitch-black with no sound
And the floor was made of dandelion clocks
That disappeared as
Time ran out.

Soon she lay down,
Embedded in the earth,
And looked up to find Ursa Major hanging by a string.
She waved at the puppeteer and smiled but when he left to wash his hands,
She frowned.
When she was younger,
The names of constellations led her to believe that all of the bears behind bars
Were born from the sky.
Naivety was prevalent in that young, fuzzy mind,
But now she knew that it was all a lie.

I emerge from the forest and an inevitable sense of insignificance overwhelms me.
The stars blow my mind,
They live without my time.
What we see is already dead and some of that legacy lives on within my being,
Yet I will never be regarded as special or as beautiful as them;
They are the uncontrollable apple of your eye.

Why don't they need our love, those stars?
Part of me thinks they just don't want it.
How can they possibly live without the warmth of society's recumbent limbs?
(For even when all humans unite, are we weak)

Maybe they have dissociated themselves from us.

All we do is dim them down
With our light pollution and our ****** rows,
To the point where some aren't even visible within the sky-
Or within the likes of you and I.

We gaze at the stars
-We look at them in adoration-
But they will never do the same.

We are but nothing like them.

I'm frequently told to
'Stop and smell the roses'-
I have hay fever.
If I were to stop, I would no longer be moving so
My mind has more time to fill itself up with the little thoughts,
The ones I'm walking the streets to forget.
Rose is one of my favourite scents but
Every time I try to take it in
My cheeks swell and my eyes water;
I'll just stick to being a walker.

I wasn't aware of this, but
The nose must play an important role
In the improvement of mental health because
I am also told to
'Wake up and smell the coffee'-
I don't want to wake up
And I can't get out of bed,
(Could you just bring me a coffee, instead?)
It might inspire me.

Within the cover of night I am sitting;
Lying;
Crying
-Doing anything other than sleeping-
In bed thinking about what if somebody told me to
'Wake up and smell the roses',
****
Myself?
Surely it's a death sentence
To do a combination of the two
That I have already explained
I cannot,
Will not
Do?

Today, however, I did attempt to smell those roses
And I bought myself a latte, too.
But all I could taste and smell was ash,
Which made me panic
Because it felt like I was burning alive and
I liked that.
Now I understand that cigarette smoke can sometimes be so potent, that it
Drowns the soul.

Tobacco is, in fact, a substance of which I feel I can relate to:
It's grown;
Briefly nurtured;
Removed;
Dried;
Packaged;
Labelled (with a warning);
Used by many and
Lastly,
Set alight by a temporary flame;
Used up in a puff of smoke.

I could hear the echo of a ****** closing in, but from which direction
I could not for the life of me tell.
The caws and cries soothed my soul
And my eyes were closed,
So that I could immerse myself in a Yorkshire breeze
That gently brushed itself past the timeless trees.

With my wake came the crows
-Of which restored my sanity-
And each wingbeat brought yet another colour to the dusky sky,
As if time were something that could be carried.
A magpie,
A reminder of home,
Perched itself upon a fallen post and rattled furiously at how temporarily tranquil
I had become.

Then a charming mist made its way across the valley
But this only enhanced the clarity of my current surroundings.
The clouds in front of me began to wisp and merge like cigarette smoke against an ever-dimming lightbulb-
That reminds me,
I still need to get that fixed.

I noticed that my neighbours were cows,
Which I saw as a treat and a rarity,
Not in any way as a delicacy to be consumed and exploited for the good of humankind-
I digress.
Not the cows that I see everyday at, say, sixth form or in
Human form.
No, the cows that I usually see in packs
On supermarket shelves;
On butchers' racks
Before the people that behold them with hungry, selfish eyes.

As I gazed in this melancholy daze I knew that I would begin to miss the sight of those unsuspecting beasts from the minute I got back to where I was from-
To where I was born to live,
Unlike those in the fields that are
Born to die.
So then I swore to myself that I would never again
Look outside.