It kills me that I can't keep you in words,
The more I write the more I seem to miss.
Like meaning from my pen is far off lured,
I can't put down your smile, your eyes, your kiss.
A kiss that for my life I can't describe,
despite how hard I try or oft I write.
Transform me hence into your willing scribe,
I'll work to make dark ink match your eyes light...
and though I know I'll fail I still write on,
hoping beyond hope that I'll succeed
in writing down some truth before I'm gone,
one truth might then find others and so breed.
Not unlike I found you and you found me
or how our I's met up to forge a we.

I wished upon your eyelash that the world would shrink in size,
so when i'm off without you...I still could see your eyes.
Oh, we'll condense the distance with affection - that we know,
but since the world won't shrink in size, I guess our hearts must grow.

Power lines like ropes of black licorice against the cotton candy sky
blues and pinks, pink and blue
I guess I wish you here to share the view.

So how bout we go around, you and I? Like kids,
stick out our tongues at all the things that we don't like...
and the sun of messy egg yolk, will come and shine on us.

You came from nowhere
out of a storm - into my heart
and we jumped into fountains
snuggled in bed
made forts out of blankets when cell phones were dead.
Following shadows in hallways
we found and we lost each other.
with the flash of your smile
the fire in my eye
the burst of your giggle
the break of my sigh

No, I've never writ of butterflies-
pretty things that flit about the flowers.
I've often thought to catch so dear a prize,
but then found better use for fleeting hours.
They won't be caught and if caught can't be kept
unless their hunter's more than passing cruel.
So, watch them, watch each flower they've o'er leapt...
then watch their sick pursuers, each a fool.
For if caught, then, what then? Forever trapped?
Those tender wings would break in any hand,
they'll batter 'gainst their bars till will's full sapped.
The corpse of what once flew has no demand.
Hold anything to tightly and it dies,
but no, I've never writ of butterflies.