I wonder if this is how a snake feels when it sheds its skin.
A cold blooded, fearsome creature, stretching in unrivalled freedom of its new found unprotection.
Revelling in the glorious vulnerability of being alive, growing.
Understanding how close to death and out of control it is and knowing that these moments, so heavily punctuated with danger, are what makes it feel alive at all.
I feel the warmth of the winter sun on my face.
The muted sunset is glorious, in that it induces hope of a new tomorrow.
I pull my grey scarf around me tight, feel the fabric fall down my back.
The weight is like an arm that only rested there in my dreams.
Grey sand pushes up to nestle between my toes, and my feet wiggle into the loving embrace of the earth.
The wind whips the waves that come crashing down onto the rocks not too far away.
The beach is deserted with only its self for love.
Memories of young lovers laughing their sweet music and filling the air with candyfloss kisses.
But I remained.
My dust buried heart was cast in darkness when the young lover left with some other summer.
and in winter I'll remain.
Happy and incomplete.
I don't know how to write poetry like I don't know how to kiss you.
Our lips touch, my heart races, but my hands don't know how closely I am able to hold on to you.
If I could write poems I'd tell you how holding you close feels like finding a life jacket when you're lost at sea.
I'd tell you how your smile is the safest place I have ever known. That I've decorated the walls of my heart with your memories so I have somewhere to call home.
But I can't.
When you're around my body becomes a garden.
Butterflies dance around wildly in my stomach, through a meadow of delusion.
Vines grow and twist around my heart, in the same way that they make old ruins beautiful.
My tongue is paradise.
A thousand blooms unfurling in your sunlight, a bed of velvet soft petals with the sweetest nectar you're only too happy to devour.
You gorge away on the sweetest fruits, th nectar, you take your cuttings for ornaments. And when youre done you leave.
Darkness follows in your wake, my eyes become waterfalls, washing any colour that remained until there is only grey.
I can't kiss you. Because I know that afterwards there is a storm without parallel. I know resting my hand on your skin is no longer a silent I love you. More like a moth flying to close to the flame.
And I can't write a poem, because when you leave me, there is nothing left...
You're **** right
You aint worth less!
You are a mystery. A riddle without an answer.
A tounge twister I can't wrap my sense around.
I would never find the answers in between your lines.
If you were a library I could never read everybook.
Not even if I could live forever.
Not even if your library would let me in.
And yet, on the cold ground I wait. My body caves in on itself, shrinking under the shadow casts by your walls.
Your fortress. Your empire. Your kingdom.
You are everything that I love and yet I am exiled.
Your name would hang above the doors in gold, glittering like the ice crystals freezing my shattered heart together.
But here I wait. And here I'd still wait.
Even after I'd gone blind, or forgotten how to read.
Because if your library ever let me in, there is no sweeter smell than old books.
I wish I could remember that words unspoken are sometimes more powerful.