I tip toe on the frozen grass,
each blade encased
in a shell of frost,
preserved in a tiny terrarium
of its own.

and I feel only guilt when it shatters beneath my feet,
like breaking glass
of empty bottles of green.
snapping each leaf out of its miniscule shell of cold and beauty.

and the sun's rays hit as my accomplice in this hateful crime.
each ray envious,
make their way to melt the frozen wonders.
and the grass cries with tears
of ice cold water,
each dripping down its faceless being.

and before others have awoken to as witness
all evidence is washed away.
melted, it seeps into the hardened ground.

now a secret that must be kept
between me and the golden sun.

But not 'I love you.'
Any three, comforting, kind
yet cruel words other than 'I love you.'
because I love you has been tainted,
tainted with the distant cries of
in love with you.
Of the connotations
and the the lack of patience
that is;
'I'm in love with you'.
'Cause I love you was no longer casual, no longer friendly nor comfortable.
I love you was filled with
'why? why? why?'
and 'why nots?'
and kisses
shhh
not kisses -
not lips,
not touch,
not soft,
no whispers.
No 'I love yous,'
no 'I love you toos,'
just 'I'm here for yous'
and 'you're important to mes.'
And the painstakingly similar;
'I need you'
'I need you too.'
But not love,
never love.
Even in the midst
of a warm embrace,
or the brush of a hand upon a face -
no I love yous could be found in this place,
Not here.
Just confusion,
uncertainty, and fear

when you touch me,
imaginary insects flutter through my being,
my belly almost bursts with the overwhelming sensation.
when you smile,
the butterflies can't stay still,
they fly around my body, fluttering and floating as they soar in circles within my fragile frame.
sometimes it feels like there are thousands, ready to rupture through my skin and swarm around you, they seem quite fond.
and it feels like they've always been there,
perhaps once caterpillars, as all butterflies start,
cocooned inside a chrysalis within the depths of my heart.
until one day, I met you and they bloomed like spring flowers, springing from cocoons,
their petal wings spread and created an unique feeling of simultaneous warmth and nervousness.
you said you feel them too, the improbable insects deep below your skin, within your core.
does this mean we're in love,
or just friends with butterflies?

soft white petals
slowly open with the sun
its rays and warmth pleads
the wary flower to trust
and reluctantly it does
and yellow yellow yellow
greets the sun

I wish to be the sun and one day see the yellow of your heart