Soft morning light seeps cooly through the window,
Filling the room with a dreary gloom;
It tickles her nose and taunts her restless state.
She tosses as the thunder crashes and turns as the lighting strikes.
But to no avail; a dreamless storm innate.

Now in the pale day he whispers softly,
The words, they race and run down her spine,
Caressing her mind; that heated spark true.  
Her breathing shutters and her back arcs,
Yet still… that grey rain lingers on.

So they stay the day away,
Lost in the cosmic reverie of but a moment gone by.
While the wind whispers beneath the songbirds,
And the trees sway in a blissful dance,
She found in his arms a warming solace,
breathing easy, mesmerized by petrichor's trance.

It is so, life continues by light’s love.
For the Earth is soiled and she is satisfied,
Twas a rainy grey so dull and bleak, but
A day so divine had bested her weary mind,
And she nodded, passing gently into sleep.

It comes when the wing crisply cuts air, or when the brush flicks with flair.
Through the pews when the light paints walls a vibrant, revenant view.
Masterful as a Commander; catching her gently in the shifting tides. 

A carpenter’s touch, a moment of nirvana; it is we, serenity savors.

Let it be graceful as a Danseur; falling as silk in pirouettes
Yet impossible to grasp, a flash of truth like lighting: an instance over.
Still the chase is everlasting, so long the giver is victor.
For stronger we’d be, pursuing love like the dawn of the hunt.

A luxury, free.

In harsh arid air, dry as the Gobi,
Sits an old man, weathered and worn by the sun.
Silent, before a fire that dances and jives,
Looking effortlessly beyond the eternal blue sky.

He smiles, toothless and benign,
No words escape but he passes a carved jade pipe,
Embers burning bright as I breathe heavy the orange glow,
'Paradise flowers illumination,'
So speaks the smoke that falls gently from my mouth.

I am immediately stripped of my body and my mind now soars,
Far beyond the sky and moon,
Yet present I am,
Flying on the sands of time in a desert that harbors no life.

He looks to me as a statue,
So sturdy and stoic,
yet gentle like clay he is frail and I fear nothing.

The earth shifts beneath once more,
Enveloping me in bright reds and deep magentas of a realm that buds like the blossoming spring,
Before me he is no more, yet you are in his place.

Intimately the fires rise, flickering now in your eyes as you stare with flames of passion that burn bright,
Your linens ripple and flow with ease in the whispering wind.
I lean in, reaching as you do, yet I am taken away once more.

Surging forward I fall back into the depths of a dream,
Where hazy figures whisper; oh how effortlessly do their woozy words charm,
Like the river I flow, they chant,
But know not where I lead, they urge,
Speaking in tongues of riddling madness, I am captivated.

Yet their wise words heed no response as I speak but say nothing, lifted again into a golden white oblivion that emerges from the depths of darkness. In this twisted haze you return to me, caressing my skin with silken tendrils.

We embrace in a lovelust passion, consumed by streams of blue that sway and pulse as we do.
I look into your eyes and see a universe.
What do you feel? She asks in heated breaths.
As I begin to ponder I am pulled from her arms, floating high above the clouds looking down on an ancient Earth.

I feel a beauty greener than the bamboo that grows deep in the forest, hidden in the shade of the mountains, I speak.

What is this beauty?

An air of elegance that course through my veins like a breeze through the vines,
That twists and turns like the jungle leopard who creeps through the trees,
With ebb and flow that sings a soft melody, more gentle than the calming stream,

She looks to me in silence,

I feel a beauty that is you, and you are the world. I take her hand -- and the world is beautiful.

As I utter such words my eyes grow weary and the day soon goes dark. I sleep for a thousand years but wake the next morning with the eyes of an old man peering down on me.

You lead your river's flow, he says smiling his toothless grin.

Soft morning light seeps cooly through the window,
Filling the room with a dreary gloom that tickles her nose and taunts her restless state,
She tosses as the thunder crashes and turns as the lighting strikes.
But to no avail; a dreamless rain is her fate.

Now in the pale day he whispers softly words that race and run down her spine,
Caressing her mind, speaking lines traced by his fingers.  
Her breathing shutters and her back arcs,
Yet still that grey rain lingers.

So they stay the day away from life,
While the wind whispers and the trees dance,
In his arms she remains as the candles burn,
Mesmerized by petrichor's trance.

For the Earth is soiled and she is satisfied,
From a rainy grey so dull and light,
A day so divine bested her weary mind,
Passing gently into night.

With glee he sinks his teeth in floured delight,
The roasted beef so tender, and melting cheese so dour,
His eyes alive, and happiness flourishing,
The child so young, knows not a world forlorn.

The rip of meat from shredding teeth,
Pulls away the lunchtime meal, stretching cheese like a broken seal,
His eyes alert, and weathered years showing,
The man now strong, forgets a world forlorn.

Onwards now with finale in sight,
The drink nearly gone, and watch ticking on,
His eyes are weary, his arms reserved,
With age he is slower, but wise from a world forlorn.

Before the finish though, his eyes look up,
So brown they were, but blue they felt,
From Images of life, of love, of glee,
Both golden and grey, he remembers his first bite.

Now with a boyish glow the old man grins,
He takes his last bite and sips his last sip,
He takes a paper and pen, his hat and coat,
And leaves, happy to have lived in a world forlorn.

Metal work rises higher than the cold air from your mouth,
The cold falls on the streets, faster than the birds flying south.
My hand in yours and we walk a few blocks,
Sounds of the city fill our ears:
Gunshots at earshot, screams louder and whispers hot,
I wrap this ratty coat around your nape, wiping away your fears.

The color is grey and the sky mirrors the hue,
The clouds cover sun and the cover brings shade,
This shade covers people, hasty and grimy they are,
Colored by the neon and the night with no star.

‘These thoughts make me angry,’ I say,
You turn your head.
You know the thoughts I think, you nod and reply,
‘I think about them everyday,’
I stop, gently holding your gaze and sigh,

‘I loved this city, and now I love you,
I loved these streets, and these buildings too,’
I turn grave for a moment, ‘It’s sad but true,
The crashes are many and the trees too few,’
So you look at me and say, ‘Alright, what should we do?’

I stand there awhile while the people walk by,
They push, grunt and sneer; no care from the passerby,
I don’t have to think but I try and pretend,
The answer is so clear; this is the end.

‘Let’s leave this place,” I say,
“Okay. Let’s.”

Of feathers and rain,
Both washed and running,
His strokes are free but damp,
His words are clear and flowing.

Thousand strong, they speak of life so light and pale,
Where the wind blows soft in an off-white sail;
In the faded colors they are but a dream,
Still the ocean breathes salty, calm on the breeze.

On white they bleed,
Under summer sun like rain they dry,
Although in the wet they run,
Still some day they all must die.

And they bled such beauty,
Their death so tragic, is now such glory,
Of feathers and rain they seem,
In faded colors they are but a dream.