My body
Is like the body of a poem
  That you're writing
And with each stroke of your quill
I lose myself but become more real
       I fall in love with your feel as you fill in my blanks

I would dip in that spring,
never full, but in spate
at such moments
of deep engagement,
with the cryptic voices of nature.
In a rush of passion
I would reach for those
lovely peaks that shiver
as if by tremors
that rumble deep below.

With my trembling heart,
I would catch your broken song,
though out of tune,
thrills and urges me,
to do whatever pleases me.
You are a cloud transparent,
that envelopes moon
with swift hands of wind,
the swirls, the twists and  the turns
aren't us, but nature, in glorious motion,
dancing in tune with our essence.

In effulgent moments, like sky birds,
when we transcend limits,
lips, parched leaves
quickly swell up like orange slices,
love in swift moves creates wonders
with its magic wand.

Experience now,
the music of motion,
an explosion
in which we are thrown up,
to a state of timelessness,
and at last hands entwined,
we walk in the garden
where wild orchids in bloom
paint our dream in vivid colors.

In my perfect little world, people greet,
they kiss and hug each time they meet .
There are no tears nor fears
and everyones okay with queers.

But in the world today, we just don’t care,
and showing love is somewhat rare.
When times are fun all friends are near,
then things get tough most of them disappear.

In my perfect little world, we give and share;
we make it a point, to show we care.
We live to love, and love to live,
and find it easy to forgive.

But in the world today we strive on greed,
and crave the things we rarely need.
We step on others to get our way,
so were let alone to pay.

In my perfect little world, children smile,
and parents go that extra mile.
No child is ever harmed or hurt,
abused or treated just like dirt.

But in the world today most people cry
and only pray in case they die.
We’ve given in to all that’s bad,
and then complain that life is sad

In my perfect little world were all the same
and life is not a spiteful game.
People are loyal, honest and just,
and value the gift of friendship and trust.

But in the world today it seems,
we’ve lost all hope or goals and dreams.
Malicious acts are seen as witty,
I think it’s sad and such a pity.

She walks on duty, through the night
Of coughing calls and sleepless sighs
And in the dim and pallid light
She stalks the ward with drooping eyes;
Thus patients rest within her sight
Which keeps them safe from their demise

One patient more, one break the less,
As frantic hands prepare the space
Which someone left in such a mess
So now she works at twice the pace
Whilst hiding signs of inner stress
With grimaced smile upon her face

And on that bed, and in the throe,
A deathly pale old patient went;
She held his hand and mopped his brow
His weary angel, heaven sent;
His vital signs began to grow
As she collapsed, her goodness spent.

A woman is like a flower;
She blossoms.
The petals of her soul stem down to her roots, and
The bee that rests upon "she loves me" is the one who reaps the honey.