He is a delicateness
a tender beautiful mess
He is the softness of
the papers of an old book
He is that forgotten wetness
of shy kissed lips
He is that sudden leap in her heart
when she smells rain
He is all those tiny things
unseen and untouched
Believe me he is
all that I have touched and cherished.

He is the emptiness
of a broken summer's moon.
Believe me he is.

What does it mean to be beautiful,
  To be alone in the most beautiful way
  To sink into the solitude with such grace
  A candle flame flickers that way
  Speechless a burning orange fire
Restless to become one with the darkness around.
Clothes wet and washed down the rocks
Lost somewhere in the running black water
What does it mean to be beauty itself,
  To be naked like the night
  Lost and meditating in desire
  Craving quietly for his holy touch
Tell me what it means
to be beauty itself,
  to be naked like the night
  and still get him to stare
  at only the moon that you hold in your eyes.

They hear the thick ripples pouring gently over the rocks.
A muddy path silently walks into the heart of the forest.
Just him and her,
the wild and the delicate,
and the voices of the night hiding unseen among the branches.
The sun is going to set.
This evening too, it will settle on the sea
Like a wise old man, walking back home
with crinkled eyes that have seen so much.

The wet mud is their bed.
He held her palm against the cold ground,
his fingers into the wetness.
Heartbeats
Her eyes fluttered open for a moment
She saw a quiet amber sun sailing on the infinite sea.
The water will devour all the daylight she thought.
How much more could she be lost?

Tiny silver stars peep out
The sky is a shade of naked blue
The sound of the water grew nearer,
and she held him so tight.

And when he'd get her eyes wet,
he'd just hug her closer to his chest
But he never stopped, because
everything is suddenly more beautiful,
and they always kept wanting more.

It's early morning when he opens those gorgeous eyes,
Black and beautiful, precious and shying away
Early birds twitter, early lovers kiss
With faded early moons in their eyes
Burning, their thirsty lips, pale their fingertips
Coyly around his neck her wrist
and The forest breeze has woken up
Wailing like an infant, softly into the air
Who said love is a quiet bud in the bloom?
It's a wolf screaming with desire
And gratitude and coldness
It's that cave somewhere deep into the woods
Which you'll find,
and enter,
and wonder how you've ended up there.

Scraped till bled, alive after they have her dead
To be left alone, she dreams of silence
At the foot of the lunatic's hill
With the mangy beasts of the wild
Which won't let you live they tell her.
They tell her their many many stories
With conclusions and morals
As she looks up at the ravens in the sky.
Hopeless.
Isn't she?