adjective

1. we were all creatures of the sky, once. so do you remember how it feels to fly? tumbling and swooping through the air, the wind in your face and a laugh on your lips. in your arms it did not seem possible that i would fall. you saved me and i am unable to return the favor.

2. your eyes shine like merry stars and i am lost gazing into their depths. i can trace constellations across the bridge of your nose and when your mouth meets mine i suddenly feel weightless in the absence of gravity. the voices tell me i'm home.

3. the universe is an omniscient creature, and it knows your name.

h.f.m.

It's 8pm, but why does that matter?
8pm is a world of home movies and cuddles and steaming tea,
where time is put on hold for a while, just to
give us a moment to breathe, lean in, and sigh,
"This is us, this relaxed euphoria. This is us, this retreat from the dawn and the brutal day."

It's 10pm, but what difference does that make?
10 pm is a world of computer screens and soft music and stories,
where time stretches and bends, shaping itself to
the space around you, murmuring just out of your sight,
"This is us, this peaceful calm. This is us, this rest from the dawn and the bustling day."

It's midnight, but does that mean anything, really?
Midnight is a world of shadows and streetlights and fog,
where infinity is a moment, a breath of space to
grasp with cold fingers to bring to one's mouth and whisper,
"This is us, this cool desolation. This is us, this retribution against the dawn and the burning day."

It's 2am, but what does that have to do with anything?
2am is a world of pauses and hesitations and waking dreams,
where time has a physical, transparent form to
inhabit like this liminal skin that hisses and cries and hums,
"This is us, this recurring threshold. This is us, this barrier against the dawn and the broken day."

It's 4am, but who cares?
4am is a world of laughter and grins and reckless abandon,
where we are liberated from our corporeal forms to
transcend the bonds of duty and responsibility, singing,
"This is us, this ethereal dance. This is us, this rebellion against the dawn and the belligerent day."

It's 6am, but is it?
6am is a world of last chances and final requests and goodbyes,
where the time-slipping of the night is fading to
be replaced by the inevitability of the rising sun, sighing,
"This is us, this new ending. This is us, this poem against the dawn and the bothersome day."

h.f.m.

Lungs full of stardust
The cosmos in your eyes
Ethereal galaxies under your collar bones
Corporeal nebulae in your sighs

Breathing iron and dust
With bones of unearthly light
Golden, eternal pulse
Guardian of the night

h.f.m.

noun

1. the scent of after-rain and earthy vanilla saturate the pages of the time-worn books piled around me like my very own wizard tower. multiloquent magician that i am, weaving words with merely my will and a quill, i cannot help but think that the smell itself is its own kind of strange and wonderful magic.

2. the sound of faint bass through headphones hanging from around my neck twines through the counter-melody looping in my head and is like my own background music. life is a movie-set and in every recording there is a harmonious strain picked up by the mikes with no discernible source. i am my own hero in this one.

3. the taste of mint on the tip of my tongue as i inhale the perfume of my garden reminds me of tree-shadows under noon-day sun, or creeks trickling through boulder fields. sparrows nestle on my collar bones, tickling my throat and filling my mouth with the summer-dust flavor of feathers.

4. the sight of a sweet shop or a library or a craft market or a street busker sends an effervescent thrill across my shoulders, seeing the pieces of the puzzle that makes up my art, on display for the world.

5. the feel of a pen in my hand is akin to being touched by the divine, with the power of pure creation at my fingertips. a world of my own making unrolls before me. it is an ever-evolving, stirring, dynamic creature of ink that is singing singing singing to my soul.

h.f.m.

Old soul
You've heard this all before
All the romantic platitudes that I might sway you with, that I might use to invoke your affection

Young body
You're sick and tired of this
Your physical form defining you and what you can think and what you can be

Immortal mind
You're already here and gone
Forever is long, but time doesn't exist, and you know you can do anything

Bird-like hands
You can't stand this
The inaction causing your fingers to flutter and alight and move on, restless and reckless

Seaside eyes
You can see it all
My heart laid bare and as tempestuous as the ocean before your feet, the waves reaching, reaching

Cosmic smile
You know the effect you have on me
Eye-teeth cutting the strings that tie me to earth, gravity is reversed, and we're among the stars

Phoenix heart
You burned the last time
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, let us rise and begin again.

h.f.m.

verb

1. a rapid tempo beats behind my ribs, beats inside my skull. a marching drum within my skin, setting the pace. we run, we fly, twirling and leaping in the clearing around the blaze. the stars flash between the leaves above in time with your pulse. you laugh, wild and loud and full. you are a dancing creature of the wood, and i never tire of watching you.

2. we would win no prizes with our art but our movements are synced with our breathing, and is there a better definition of grace? stumbling over each other and using each other's arms to keep upright, our laughter is a tangible thing twisting along beside us in the dark on the slick, dewy grass.

3. this moment is forever, a background soundtrack of reckless, boundless joy tinged with fire and moonlight. this is the epitome of the immortal, boundless youth.

4. this moment, this dance, this one eternal night... think of this when you think of me.

h.f.m.

Three simple steps

Number One
Forget
Release all your fears
Relinquish all your anxieties
Empty yourself of worry and doubt

Number Two
Relax
Release all your commitments
Relinquish all your goals
Empty yourself of passion and motivation

Number Three
Let go
Release all your thoughts
Relinquish all your emotions
Empty yourself of spirit and control

Then you have become a flaming celestial body
A supernova
You have become starlight

h.f.m.

noun

1. i will always be afraid.'bold, heroic, daring...' these are words to describe another. despite this, i will never shy away from myself. i may not be brave, but i am honest.

2. have you ever found a poem that touched you, brushed your very soul, and sent shivers across your skin? inexplicably, indisputably, a dust-spark alights gently in your lungs. inhale, fire. exhale, smoke.

3. flames on my tongue like a shakespearean sonnet, embers on my lips searing like birdsong. i am too terrified to speak. for you, i would.

4. i am finally doing something right.

h.f.m.

Life is an awesome/awful/awe-inspiring gift
Given freely, without conditions
A pulse is translated as spinning stars/singing starlings/stilling stardust
Blood of a universe under thin skin
Floating/Falling/Flying, we rise
To the constellations from whence we came
Freed from mortal shell/ringing bell/living hell
We are home

h.f.m.

Logic is the path, wisdom the destination,
and intuition is that little bird with the message tied around its leg,
fluttering through your parted lips to land on your tongue.
You swallow it.

Wings and claws beat against the lining of  your stomach,
gut instinct. Got a hunch?
Trace the wire-line pulling your intestines through skin,
as the crow flies, ignore the hills and hummocks.
Problem found, process skipped, solution acquired.
Teleportation of the mind.

Blue bird, blue bird, sing me a lily song.
This time rational thought takes a back seat,
and psychic-like insight takes the wheel.
Pedal to the metal, highways rendered irrelevant.
Instantaneous liftoff, and we're airborne.
Pluck the answer from thin air.

Let us see where the mind takes us.

h.f.m.