And like dandelions
Dispersed in a warm, summer breeze
I'll be gone, far beyond
To where these feet
have never been.
Disappear without a trace
You won't recognise this face
Walking by your side
Down the street.
And all I will be
Is a passing memory,
A fleeting shadow
On your mind's tapestry,
As we move away
Separated by time and space.

If only I could say the same about me
If only I could say...

A glowing warmth
lights up the front yard
and slivers
of sunshine
touch gently upon
your brown eyes.

A butterfly blazes yellow
and in the breeze,
tall, old trees sway
together, ever so gently.

A sultry kiss
blown across a lazy heaven
brushes tenderly against
your blushing cheek,
and a summer sun
burns through the mundane
as the murmurs of the universe
reverbate far within your brain.

That's when you surmise
maybe its not just plants
that photosynthesize.

Somewhere far from now
we will bask under a glorious sun
your legs stretched out
beside my shapeless form,
your skin submerged in waves of light
beads of sweat evaporating
off your open palms
and the stories you describe, alive
with brilliant amber sunshine in your eyes.
Somewhere far from now, we will be
clouds, lazing amidst mountainous trees
floating, floating above our rocky extremes
past shores of white sand, where we meet
Till then, I wait, aching patiently
I, the silent hill and you
the deep blue sea.

Her hair shifts lightly, breathing in the wind
A million insecurities hiding behind my gaze
A slender hand closes loosely over mine
Even as my eyes push her gently away.
And we float - two islands separated by a vigilant sea
That kisses our shores to keep us at bay
Lest we collide into despondent calamity
Lest we crumble like sandcastles beneath the waves.
A bottle and two glasses stand tall on the table
Against the backdrop of unfulfilled fairytales
Despite myself, a warm affection spreads through my chest
Past all the defences my heart carefully puts in place.

And as I listen to her laughter behind my fortressed walls
I wonder if I'm falling for her
Or if it's just the alcohol.

He watches a life burn down to dusty ash
From a tiny, yellow gas flame
That lights the cigarette in his hand
That churns out words from his troubled brain.

A writer's violence hides, not in his eyes,
But in angry, quivering palms that trace
A venomous, untidy, familiar scrawl
Reducing her complexity to scribbles on a page.

Though he mourns the memories of happier days
He feeds it all to his carnage.

When two black wheels crashed into four
Two legs stretched out behind a silver door
He lay, pinned down on the dusty road
Clawing at her face in vain, he choked.

My conscience asks, "What troubles you more?"
"The mask of anger that she wore?
The circle of people watching the show?"

The universe behind your eyes bursts at the seams
And inside you hide in unnamed galaxies
You wish to speak of the wisdom of trees
You want to talk about the calm of seas
A momentary distraction is all you need
To turn the voices down, to live a silent dream
It fills up your mindscape with high-def imagery
A 42-inch flatscreen TV.