Nightfall
and I cannot get over
the architecture of you

I could draw your fingerprints
from memory
with rainbow crayons

paint
how you scrunched your toes
like yesterday’s paper

whenever the water
threatened to soak
our undressed feet

We are here
talking about
anything everything

nothing at all
your words are my wine
I want to sip every drop

ask for another bottle
in the coal-black silence
and get smashed

wake up tomorrow with sand
strewn through my fringe
a silly smile or two

forget what is not
on this beach
and know only now

the tone of the waves
hue of your lipstick
beat of our hearts

like cracks in the sidewalk you lay down and remain.
friends and lovers move over you with their steel souls and boots.
weeds are spoken of, hiding in your crevices.
to be torn apart and rebuilt.
they see you as an obstacle.
i see you as a treasure.
no
i see you
as you do not want to be seen
i see you
as you

Poor girl.
In love with Poet.

Poet and man; angry at times;
Firing insults you can't

Possibly
Counter.

Beating you black and blue
With flowers
And feathers.

Poor girl.
Loved by Poet.

Loved and held closest;
First to fall victim

To every sudden movement
In matters of hearts
And hands.

Shriek of humanity
The cries of innocence
Ahh yes, this song
You don’t hear it?
Tell me, what does she sound like?
The Symphony of string and percussion
The pounding of her heart like tip tap of water
Nearly empty
Thinning strings as she wails with the violin
Angry, Yearning for an audience
Harmonizing the dissonance she is struck with
It’s almost beautiful
Chaos that is in tune with the hearts of men
A song for you
A mimic of you
Muffled by the mirrors we build
Allowing only the slightest murmurs
A mere echo of their subverted lives
We can’t face the music
Fearing that we’d see our blemishes
Our faces crept away for centuries
A false lifestyle
In a carnival of plastic mirrors

Everyday the world is asking
New questions keep arising
Many still left unanswered
One day in your life, she’ll run out of breath
The silence will choke you
You’re loosing something
You’re not yourself
No longer spoon fed by her patience
But you’re still filthy rich
Yet something’s still missing
Maybe then you’ll be curious
What could be playing in that song?

How can we find out?

There's a magical place in the forest
Where fairies go to cultivate
Flutter around with verses and rhyme
Sweet poetry they make

They frolic amongst the
Verbs and nouns
Plucking flowers and synonyms
Joining hands and ripe phrases
Create odes they want to sing

Cross pollinating the pieces of poetry
With different story lines
Fertilizing with a purpose
In the growing of the rhyme.

Their dainty feet
Sow similie  seeds,
And their deft little hands
Root out mispelled weeds.

Then they whisper the words to the
passing breeze
Who takes words, caresses them,
And floats with ease.

They travel and roam
Off to distant pastures new
Where they settle
And blossom into a muse.

Then implant in the mind
Of a resting poet
Enter his thoughts and views
Who upon waking
Will stretch, smile and write,
And continue to grow and enthuse.

Gnarled twigs, eyes of owl  .  .  .
Blood blooms from feather and fur,
  .  .  .  Flowers of the moon.