I want to give you my happiness
My heart and the little love it contains
I want you to have my smile

Keep my joy
Save my youth

I'll give it all to you

I want you to have my eyes
my visions

My words
my stories

I need to give you a hug
please feel warm

If this is love

I'll give it to you all
- - -

I cried my eyes out for you too

Strange place, strange ways, each stay away!
Then why are there two roads to take?

The maps and paths, and followed tracks.
And Google, Waze, we trust their facts.
Turn left, turn right we let it steer.
To miss a turn, we start to fear.

Across to tolls, collect control.
Like little soldiers, do as told.
Planned flights and crowds, comfort in traps.
Are we confined in our skin wraps?

Some lost, pretend to just be found.
Some found, act lost, pretty profound.
To take that step, the unprotected.
To turn towards, the unexpected.
A wasteful plan, we must forget it.
Insane repeat, and do we test it?

Misdirection, to find us love.
Misdirection, to find us trends.
Misdirection, finds ideas.
Misdirection, to find us friends.
Misdirection to free in stress.
Misdirection leaves no regrets.

Let one misdirection find you.
Let one misdirection guide you.
Let one misdirection define
And be the reason, you are you.

An old matron came by the billet dead in the night.
My stares did not seem to distract her; how curious -
how her gown remained at rest as she pulled nearer;
that she knew her purpose, dignified, almost vicious.

Then right across from me, she draped upon a seat;
her gown gently quivered like the bell of a jellyfish.
Now I observed her face, the frown she wore, and lost count
of all the thin shadows the starlight chose to stitch.

Her nose then descended to usher two full moons bright,
that pierced my breath and froze time in that moment.
The clock slurred and slept, and left me pining for its ticks,
while I heard her speak, clear white but also solemn.

"Why do you judge?" An unforgiving probe, more so
for it was confusing and wrought topfull with questions.
"Surely it is to make a choice" - I exhaled it like a criminal,
"So I make fewer mistakes" - an unmistakable confession.

A pause, no reaction. Yet I heard a chaotic disapproval
drumming when I swallowed - surely my heart's doing.
Her head crept forth, and polluted, "What did you mean
when you say, 'My wings, they do not branch - they ruin'?"

Train stops.
Coffee shops.
Feet shuffle across the cobbled stones.
Flurries of sparkling dew are falling,
undecided if they're snow or rain.
It's getting cold out here,
winter nipping at our toes and ears;
pulling jackets closer,
wishing jackets were our lovers.

And there, in the warmth of a corner shop,
a nymph, perhaps, or just a girl.
And when she looks up, my god,
it's like the sun has birthed a world
of stars and planets, a universe,
held inside a sea of traversed
by love and longing
and patient waiting,
for a man exactly like you.

And as you reach for that thing you need,
what was it that you came here for?
Those fingers brush your hand,
and your head rushes in your heart,
and those eyes capture your smile,
and as you journey back to home,
the cobbled streets are so much warmer
as you pull your jacket closer
and she pulls you closer too.