I lopped up an orange
and let the juice run down my throat
the way you drink fire
and breathe into me.

Beats me breathless

I blew out candles I'd lit
in joy of your return.
Because you retraced your steps
and set fire to my lawn
bright enough to keep the light.

I found a place within
my head where you and I
are still standing before
each other

in love.

I wonder of you like
star gazing fanatics look into the sky, searching
for some supernova.

Your words have constantly touched
and pulled at my heartstrings:
Our Kind Of Love Story
Cycles: Rescue
We Won't Need Anything
The Fall
*******
Aqualung

And countless others that rage over my mind
keeping me awake.

Being a great poet is not the easiest thing to do
but I guess when one has got a heart like yours,
you just close your eyes
and paint.

Take a long look at the road
you walked past and wonder of
how many stops you made
and how many you had to take.

(Was the meter still running
when you had me waiting outside
your house waiting
for it to become a home you
would have never built with me?
But become a visitor in a gallery
of art I could never understand.)

Live each day like a sombre white
and watch over your thoughts
as if you had a limit to how much
you could hurt yourself
because there is only so long
the Father could hear and only so many hail Marys that can keep you

sinless as the day you were born.

Plant a tree for every heart you broke
and watch someone else carve their stories
in you.

If I look at this life,
At today, or tomorrow
Yesterday, I see what is behind me
I see your face, my smile
exactly the way we once were.
Still I wake up tomorrow,
another day of pretending.
This is okay, but inside denial.
more and more hollow,
the way my heart aches,
so I don't look for tomorrows.
I much rather turn around,
and look upon those yesterdays,
because right now, the next day,
they seem less worth while
They are as empty then
as they are now,
yesterday is worth my gaze.
back then was everything.