Remember the iron cage
When dreaming of drifting
Through the milkyway with her
Sweet talking through nebula lit nights

When etching promises
Into the garden fence
With ruby red ink
Remember the way
She ties you up and drains your blood
And chips shards from your bones
To sculpt her pens

love is

our unkept bed on a Sunday morning
clothes thrown on the floor
candles burned down to no wicks

sleeping off last nights tangled limbs
on the grey leather couch
infinity in crystal blue eyes

palm to palm, fingers entwined our lifelines cross
counterbalancing personalities complete the circle
protective of what is within

so familiar our anatomical embrace
we breathe shared air
beats in autotune, universe intact

loneliness, anguish and fear,
is all you made her feel.
all she wanted was to feel loved,
to feel loved by you....

I get lonely, I forget my worth
I get lonely, I pretend it could be worse
I get lonely, I burn me to keep you warm
I get lonely, I hate that you are truly happy

How strong can love get
Do you end up alone
Does love really exist
Or just found in a poem

Spring is a doing word
- quietly, softly, resolutely
repeatedly springing up
through the heavy clay
springing forward
past these ground hog days
offering an initiation rite
of colour, warmth and new light.

Spring is a doing word
- so do it right.

His eyes spoke profoundly what his lips couldn't utter.
©Sonia Ettyang