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em Mar 2014
I find myself
tripping on my own
two feet.
Nothing weighs
me down
but myself.
I set sail
searching for
myself
only to find
my own persona
******* in knots.

I am lost.
em Feb 2014
I watch her smile
and red locks fall
not quite perfectly
into place
they call her
the plain jane
but we watch
gentlemen
falling into line.
there is something
about her -
I can't put my finger on
but still
everybody loves her.
em Feb 2014
The streets of Paris -
the long walks
in the drizzle of rain
the lamp posts
and the ornate structures
are not quite as beautiful
when you're holding
her hand.

No Eiffel tower
can tell you
how much I love you
The warm waft
of a croissant
is not enough
even when washed down
with hot chocolate
to take away
this bitter taste.

The Pont de l'Archeveche,
the love lock bridge.
they say the padlock
symbolises eternal love
throwing the key
into the river
binds us
everlasting.
But just like the key
you are gone
forever.
em Jan 2014
your words lead the staccatos in my heart
a symphony starting gentle and soft
teasing to the richest crescendo
and it stops. at the ****** of two highest notes.

your voice is a soothing tune
a reminder of how our bodies entwined
moved in soulful harmony -
the sweetest sonata of our time.
em Jan 2014
the hummings you hear
is the tune at work
at binding my heart
to this one true love.
the pedal point that holds our song
courses through my every node
bringing me life
like how your words
give breath to my smile.
this love is true
my heart beats for you
with the steadiest of rhythms
alongside quaver notes
deep in song
as I have found myself
deep in your promising love.
em Jan 2014
Clothed in nakedness
and courage
I lay you my heart
on stone cold tiles
just like the fingers
that trace my spine.

You tug at it
my satin sleeve
and delicate heartstrings.
You unravel me
as we tangle in tango.
This gift
I give to you.

Opened and crumpled paper wrappings
left in the corner
just like the pastel skirt
worn for you.
Torn and used
what more
have you to do?

Months past eight
there is none but you.
Even through the tears
still,
you are my rain
you are my shelter.
em Jan 2014
Up
There is something
about waking at 5 -
what is it? -
that keeps bringing me back.

It is the silence
that is so loud.

It is the darkness
that perfect amount of glare.

It is the rare headlights
seen from afar
You being to wonder.

It is the tip toeing down
the excitement when it creeks.

It is the break from humanity
''it's just me now.''

It is the two leaves
shaking so slightly.

It is the odd lone star
that fades away.

It is watching black
turn red
then blue.

It is waiting
one
by
one
for the house to wake.

— The End —