we spoke to each other softly
and played with each others hair
while the clouds passed above us and
we dreamt of what it’d be like to run away from our problems
and I turned and looked at you through the tall grass
and watched every blade cast the softest shadow on your face
you stared back
with the most broken of glances
and I knew that the fire we’d started
would soon swallow us whole
yet we still kept fighting
for what we knew we deserved

and now
each day passes
like falling petals from a wilting flower
we pass by each other
like leaves blowing in an ever changing wind
we dance and sway
constantly torn apart by the unknown future
and the feelings bound to our chests by barbed wire
and glue
we’ve poisoned each other in the most beautiful way
with each “I love you” and every “I’d die for you”
we clouded our minds and fed oxygen to the flames
these were our last goodbyes
our final moments
yet we both knew we were meant to be free
to break away form from the rusted cage we’d been put in
and like moths we sprung from our cocoons
and flew towards the light

and now years have passed
I’ve kept you hidden away
I’ve kept photographs of you locked away in gold boxes
and each memory we shared
became it’s glowing moth
flying towards it’s own personal oblivion
making whatever it had known
eternal

there are no amount
of words to describe the life
you put into me.

Returning to my native village after many years’ absence:
I put up at a country inn and listen to the rain.
One robe, one bowl is all I have.
I light incense and strain to sit in meditation;
All night a steady drizzle outside the dark window --
Inside, poignant memories of these long years of pilgrimage.

Sometimes I find myself

          whispering your name into the wind

                    hoping and praying

                              that my thoughts of you carry through

                                        and let you know how much I care

                                                  and how much I actually think of you.

                                                           ­ I guess I think of you a lot.

I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
desperately
but you prefer my
reality.

one petal falls from the bright pink peony

the cracks start to show

two petals fall from the bright pink peony

the world starts to slow

four petals fall

then six

ten

our pretty pink peony no longer has petals

there’s nothing at all -

two pink peonies in a vase, one bare, one full.

one peony says goodbye to the other.

The end.