i wish people still wrote letters,

i wish we still penned down our thoughts,
so that your tear stains could guide me to your heart
and the coffee or wine stains to those sleepless nights

so that the scent of the sheet could tell me
what perfume was your new favourite
and your lazy handwriting showed how tired you were

theres so much more of you on paper,
and theres so much of you i miss.

I want to be
                 your happy poem
    to write myself
                             into your eyes
your lips, your shoulder blades
to fall into your soul
                         and leap from there
into that heart within your heart
not known to you just yet

I want to be
                    the verse that rings as true
        as the promise of your gaze
late in the day, an uncontemplated
word
a whispered phrase which keeps
and holds and stays with you
                throughout the day

I want to be the sound
                        and smell of fresh felled rain
to stir your thoughts as you awake
                        a storm
relentless, unafraid
                       to bring your laughter
and retreat into the wants
                                      within your veins

A withered leaf,
Falling from its foothold,
Swirls in time,
Contemplating the moments he swayed,
And stayed on a high branch,
Feeling the wind blowing on it's face,
Yet now the moment has ended,
As it's face hit the ground when it landed.

Tear
Gas
Has
No
Use
When
People
Are
Already
Crying

I know of a man who sells flowers-
cut with a sharp knife
they do not live too long, after that.