it ain't easy, when you relate, restrict and delegate,
when you draw a narrow lane on a highway that says
only left footed
poets need apply
<>
it does not say
slow cars stay to the right,
only trucks,
or oddly even,
no trucks


I love seasonality,
without thickly thinking
you take a break
from the poetry writing

one day I'll figure out a way
to monetize my love poems,
publish them as Shakespeare's couple(t)s,
"new edition plus
a couple of
newfound poems!"

maybe some fools will buy some thinking Shakespeare has been, resurrected!

love grows goes hot all over and
grow slower older
and grow colder,
in between those fine
ticklish teasing moments

when the miracle of resurrection repeats itself

something is said
a gesture is made
a finger strokes the cheek,
unexpected
and it all comes
rushing back again,
overfilling
that coffee cup mug she bought
just(ice)
for you

ain't gonna check how long it's been
since last I declaimed, disclaimed,
inflamed,
these pages with an only love poem

but I do know this:
it is something I think about,
It is something I know about,
it is something I feel about
daily
even on the nothing days,
when routine takes over
I know you couldn't remember of its passage,
is the waking up and the lying down to sleep

but the poets eyes are always open his emotive secret senses,
always alert,
what's that thing they always say,

his heart just wasn't in it!
(🥴if they only knew the truth😘)

Loves not a gadget
Or a novelty item
It is tried and true.

Have you ever thought
that a poet's pen
performs
"open heart "surgery
every time
it writes?

I knew it then, the light grew thin,
Your smile was warm, but not within.
The words grew few, the nights turn cold,
and I still carry what we were-
In quite wind, in whispered blur.

but love it seems, is not a flame
that bury forever with the same
sometimes it's just a fleeting light,
A burst of stars, then gone from sight.

I wish I hid the words I've said,
the one should kept beneath my lips.
but even in this dark regret,
I hold the love I won't forget,
though time has drawn us far apart.
you're still the song inside my heart-
A sweet, soft pain I can't reset.

but not all love is meant to stay,
some simply bloom then fade away.
you gave me something pure and true,
a piece of light I carry thru-
a sweeter heart because of you.

a gentle ache, a quite theft
the best of me, once loved
by you.

Most books
I've lost or destroyed.
Only a few
always remain
by my side.

If any books last,
they’re full of
coffee stains,
small folds,
worn-out pages.

Time spent
scrolling libraries -
shiny covers,
loud titles
posing for attention.
I see their beauty,
but none
caress my soul.

I know the moment
when it happens.
I’ve read
similar first chapters
once before.

The first page -
lightning bolt,
mental spotlight,
my heart whispering:
nothing else matters.

But every page
I turned,
I feared
all I love
could vanish
within just a few words.

Stories progress -
and so
their characters too.
I struggled
to keep up,
to grow with you.

I wish I kept reading.
I was frightened
by your clean slate -
no visible scars
to match mine.

I was afraid
to be misunderstood,
to be a burden.
You never knew
what it’s like
to have all you care for
blown up like fireworks
on a sad New Year’s Eve.

I expected too much,
hoping you’d see
dried up waterfalls
behind my stage light smile.

Years passed. I’ve grown.
I think I’m ready
to read again.

I hope you’re there,
somewhere,
looking for me.
Know that I too
search for you.

Show your torn-down soul
wherever you express.

Tell the whole world
how you defied
cold ravines,
silent nights.

Lay breadcrumbs
along your path
of self-destruction.

Trust in me
seeing you
as you drag
yourself along.

Let’s rebuild
our lives
together,
with worn-out tools.