When one loses grip
They must lower the bar just
To hang on to life

While ***** buzzes my brain,
I waddle and stumble but—
Pale palms meet my arms,
Shielding me gently.

Heavy tones dissolve,
Evaporate;
For it is her
Keeping me in place.

Her grip on my sleeves
Ignites no lust, but trust—
Time slows its ticking pace;
As her tender hands
Sink into my sweater sleeves,
Soothing, steady,
Making me stay.

I stumbled upon her—
Fell in love
Again.

Soft is the charm of

All those dilly-dally
Daisy Buds—
Re-bloom beneath the glance
Of a man who hasn’t loved enough.

Those that dig deeper,

May they be Moolish,
Daisy Diggers,
Digging dozens of Buds
Until their nails become tough.

Foolish they seem.

Spent and soil-stained,
Yet sweaty palms meet—
Ground out, but rejuvenated
With Daisy Buds.

Clueless she was,
Truly—

Her pearls in wonder,
Lacking attention.

None of her gazes
Meet my wandering mind.

For it was her,
The cause—

My worldview ponders,
Troubling affection.

Uncharted hazes
Seek to revise my life.

Desperate calls,
Futile—

We are no longer.

Guilty redemption,
Your teary razes
Made me perfectly blind.

Blind to what was left
Of our desired life.

Lift her up in the light.

Rejuvenate old wrinkles.

Forgotten stories awaken,

Bloom once more.

I can’t help but glance again at
Mrs. Metro.
I bet she’s also into reading.
It’s in the way she holds that phone—
Four fingers aligned,
Slightly tilted downwards,
Leaving little space between them,
The usual grip of a story.

She must be passionate,
Mrs. Metro,
About the little things.
I can tell by her voice,
Its melody shifting
Between highs and lows,
The sound of a soul that cares,
Even for those who don’t.

Mrs. Metro
Meets my glance
When I pass her,
Drawing close.