I guess that it's easy to say
That when winter skies turn grey,
It's time for a mite bit of cuddlin',
To keep those grey skies at bay.

My heart grows colder,
Though I'm warmer for it.
I feel lost in a small bubble,
Everything around seems to crumble and fall.
My only wish,
If nothing else,
Is for you to call.
Oh,
To hear your voice,
It's like the feeling of a butterfly fluttering on your nose.
It's the feel of cold water as it falls down your throat to a longing gullet.
To feel the soft caress of your hand,
Is downy sweeping across my skin.
It's the tickle that doesn't make me jump,
It's the shiver that welcomes goosebumps.
If only,
If only,
I could simply feel your arms around me,
I would fall back-first into a pile of now broken leaves.
I once walked around our town for hours,
Trying to alleviate the thought that soon I would be gone.
It was then that I heard your voice,
That soft and delicate and loving voice.
It fluttered on my nose like a butterfly,
It brushed itself against my check,
And the sweet aroma of a single white flower growing in the yard outside my window swept gently into my nose,
Then I sneeze.
I will pick you this flower,
Once every day,
Since so many grow,
But so far apart.
If anyone has ever known how to fix this,
It was you.

Within my heart
Lies a little start.
Such a small pump
Haphazardly dumps
A plethora of feeling
From a cardiac ceiling.
A breathless trance,
A love fueled dance,
I sit staring at you.
Your skin,
So lovely in hue,
Is radiant from within.
Whatever would I do
Were I taken from you?
Lie quietly on the grass
As visions quickly begin to pass
Through a broken mind
To pass the time.

Within my heart
Lies a little start.
Such a small pump
Haphazardly dumps
A plethora of feeling
From a cardiac ceiling.
A breathless trance,
A love fueled dance,
I sit staring at you.
Your skin,
So lovely in hue,
Is radiant from within.
Whatever would I do
Were I taken from you?
Lie quietly on the grass
As visions quickly begin to pass
Through a broken mind
To pass the time.

Such sweet songs
Fall from faces full
Of open
Hearts holding hands.
Generally great groups gather
Quixotic questions,
Ponder personal perceptions,
Emulating ever entranced emotions.
Love loses leaps, leaves
Broad bruises bypassing
Catastrophically closed creations.
What wonder, what wildly whimsical
Rejoice remains?
In individualistic idioms.
As all allowed anatomical
Differences deal dictations,
Juxtaposed jesters join
Monstrous masterminds
Trivially tinkering, tryingly,
Near non-subjective nothingness
Under unusual
Vectors. Vivisecting voracious,
Zeppelin-esque, zygotes,
Xenophobic
Yodels yell,
"****! **** kindheartedness!"

The air called after me,
Eyes unblinking, I answer
"For what purpose do you need me?
Of what service am I?"
Is it that I am blind and may not see?
Foresight now fills my mind.
Hindsight, though, is left far behind.
Lonesome, I set out now, divine
Is my cause so I stay in line.
But am I to continue?
Must I search for a new venue,
A different place to call my own?
It seems, for a year, or a tear, I am alone.

A sound falls from the sky,
Such a sullen sordid tune.
It makes on ponder why
A sound falls. From the sky
A bird lets out a cry;
From its sorrow you are not immune.
A sound falls from the sky,
Such a sullen, sordid, tune.

I seek out this bird,
It sounds as if an infant.
I almost feel absurd
As I seek out this bird.
Yet, I barely speak a word;
Far too ashamed to break this instant,
I seek out this bird,
It sounds almost an infant.