Searching for yourself, hoping to find your complete.
A place to call home,
too impatient to wait
for a miracle to knock down your door
Eyes strained and lips stained of loss
Engaged to cupid's bow and lonliness is your mistress
Neither your shadow cares enough to appear
but little do you know
fire has no shadow
So be the light my love,
be the fire
burn me

i believe in a story

               (it is my love)

the passing of my hands through light,
the coming of slight graces,
the bended stocks of mute flowers.

my love
you are without skin,
your eyes do not see,
your lips do not kiss.

my love
i love you–

         (and where

are you?

my love you
are the whole neatness
wishing within me

to feel the slight pressing
of heat beneath your skin;

the pulsed flexing of your vein
and hem. my love you are

the small darkness
and tiny quiet of my
heart to fill you kissing;

the crimped weakness of your knees,
the playing of your eyes after nightfall,
the winking fleetness of your cheeks.)

And, my love
are you

  where ?

(i can feel you)

even with space
between breathing
and heat between us;     my love

i can feel your someday lips
within my lips the
waxing of your palm
within my palm.

my love
(and i have always loved you)
will believe
in the story

of your hands and lips:

the passing of my hands through light,
the coming of slight graces,
the bended stocks of mute flowers.

When I will be on my death bed,
Lying on the white sheets,
In the cold rooms, with machines
that would keep me alive, and
my wife and children would leave
the room as the time go by, as
the visit hours will end, and
they wish me bye bye,
My eyes will swell, thinking
that it might be the last day,
I am alive, Where,
the last thing I will recall,
is, how you kissed me,
Under the trees, with
your hands around my neck,
with an affection unwilled to end,
and the eyes stared to say,
that you loved me, but never
the lips said, for a fear
to hurt me of unexpected faith,
as I will regret every moments,
for the luck that I prevailed,
And perish my life,
with unfulfilled but pure,
A love, that I wish to get
next life, A new ship to be sailed.....

The path by which we twain did go,
  Which led by tracts that pleased us well,
  Thro' four sweet years arose and fell,
From flower to flower, from snow to snow:

And we with singing cheer'd the way,
  And, crown'd with all the season lent,
  From April on to April went,
And glad at heart from May to May:

But where the path we walk'd began
  To slant the fifth autumnal *****,
  As we descended following Hope,
There sat the Shadow fear'd of man;

Who broke our fair companionship,
  And spread his mantle dark and cold,
  And wrapt thee formless in the fold,
And dull'd the murmur on thy lip,

And bore thee where I could not see
  Nor follow, tho' I walk in haste,
  And think, that somewhere in the waste
The Shadow sits and waits for me.

The tips of your fingers are
burning holes in my thighs
as theses indirect questions
pick through my mind
how was I supposed  to know
it would end up like this
every word we say bitter and stiff
you didn't even have to try
to burn down that bridge
it was smoking since we began
there was no way we'd make it
not with my ****** up views
and your unwillingness to try
in almost six months neither
of us was really happy once
well that's not true, I was happy
but very rarely with you
bringing each other up then down
like a twisted merry-go-round
with our hearts for horses.