I don't want to go.
I don't want the seams of our love,
to be lost in the fray.
I want to stay draped in it.
a cloak from the winds,
that are sweeping this planet.
I want to stay dry,
from the rains that follow me home,
to my doorstep.
I need to keep this sacred,
not misplace it,
into stray hands.
or from those,
who wander & poach beauty,
from this world.
No one seems to see,
you & i
that we've been cut,
from the same cloth.
Cleaning away the earth's last stains.
I feel your warm blood still in your veins.
A close cousin weeps at these new remains.
I feel sorrow now well in my heart.
I know you can't stay forever on this plane.
What a difference, one minute can change.
In one, a heart beats, the next, one is broken.
my heart breaks in two
like the way it separated when I came from you
you endured the pain and gave me life
my own light
there is no way to repay that
other than "I love you"
A city of millions
of lost dreams
and hopes held onto
by the threads of previous generations
People have been showing up to this city
for hundreds of years
with the intent of a new life and love
At its current state of flowing people
on its sidewalks
they spill into the traffic of the streets.
This fullness, this ecstatic energy
edging everyone onto their next feverish step in life.
So many storylines intersecting at random.
A shared bench in central park,
the line of a coffee cart.
All their own collective catalog of stories untold in this
giant library city.
Each person a potential chapter of love
in my unfinished book.
with all the bobbing faces
in the sidewalk currents
there is only one I am looking for
it's the only one I know
in this whole city.
in my dreams, i was a ghost in my own haunting
in life, i was wandering in your garden of denial
We can not force other's interests,
lead one's hand to journey across a book,
The galaxy of written accounts that go from heartbreak to triumphs,
that can line the walls of a simple room.
Leading us down the path of our own interest,
Something that we should hold sacred.
A thirst for knowledge,
Though not just to be lead,
But of our own understanding.
One could get lost and never be found and still, they could not read every ink-stained page.
Every individual writes a story, some choose blood over ink,
To let the world know of their passage through time.
Thoughts of you are like
Sunshine in my mind
A warm capsule of our time