Subtle waves make similar sounds to the desires
Drowning amid our fascination with the
"What If's" in life

The spastic sensations navigating our spines
Like fingertips navigating a writhing map
Curling as they make their way up and down

And so if we leave the "Ifs" for "thens"
Then they no longer sway but sit still
Our bodies lie dormant, separate and sensationless

Thus a hand in your hand says in silence
That "What If's" occupy no space
Between our clasped palms

Clouds disappear as soon as we find
No need for the moons slight shine
Exploring from behind closed eyes

No space between our lips to contest
The absence of space between our bodies
Nervously sailing above the waters wake

The air was cool no vessels to shield from the wind
For the boats had given us our privacy
To teach each other of music and dance

And music is the melody that drifts lightly
Upon your skin and your legs and your neck
Whispers softly in your ear so you fall victim to its passion
Suddenly pressing yourself against another
Heartbeats swiften and bodies move in unison
Caressing into shimmering heat that strips on every beat
Hands fall safely on chests
And suddenly the song descends into silence
The only sound is made by locked gazes
And breaths of amazement.

So why stray from possibilities
Why think of "What if's"
When one look and one touch
Led to music like this?

i asked the water for advice
It had me lay on the shore and close my eyes
While its wake licked my heels, speaking slowly
As i listened and took notes on the inside of my eyelids

When i woke, the sky was marble blue
And inside my eyes were hasty scribbles
trying to keep up with the lakes words
The water was weary then
Falling back to still sounds and quiet movement
And i, Only left with the words i had written
Sat back and closed my eyes

The water said...
Her kindness and dedication, for those she loves
and for that which she is passionate
Is a talent of the heart
though it may churn the ocean inside
causing ripples in the tide
She never leaves wanderers alone on stranded ships
Because that is the strife that lingers
coiled in between lonesome tired hands
and she is one who can feel
and truly understand

It's a talent of the heart
That you feel in her voice
And feel in her touch
and see in her face
as she smiles an skips

You are a lucky man
you are in the right place

Then the water rose
And i fled to grandmother tree
and she too spoke to me

The story opens
and the curtains reveal a man pacing back and fourth
but only within his mind
as he shifts his legs in a well used chair

We the audience, and the cellos ambiance
wait for any kind of sound apart from the squeaking of chairs
it would seems our eager stares
and judgmental glares
stretch the time between the shifting of legs
and silence becoming sound

sweat beads from his brow
because now to the eighteenth minute
he will sit in silence, broken only by
his last breath before he is to bloom
into transcendence
as written in the type face of the script

and he is nervous
the set may be alive, the dancers may be lively
but he in 15 minutes shall die dramatically
the story shall be driven upon death,
his body shall lie motionless
his heart will beat ferociously
he must be emotionless

The story closes
behind the curtain a body is risen again
a personality is peeled from his face
struck blind by seeing light through his own eyes

That night he sleeps and dreams
about being dead without a heartbeat
for once

i found myself today walking in triplicate
two legs, three steps, then repeat
walking to the sounds of crickets chirping to remain on beat
the moonlight beckoning tribute
so i leaped upon the nearest street lamp
spun round with a joyous energy
with dismount, a bow of the head, and all crickets went mute
yet i still skipped in time with the thump of my heartbeat
the dance was not yet complete
for in following your heart
the faster it would go
the quicker the tempo
and soon you'd trip
fall and beg the moon for forgiveness
and only then would she let the sun  rise
to shed light on the beauty you had just created

So i met a someone who doesn't walk but glides somewhere between her wings and her feet
And i find myself completely enthralled that her words dance like she does
Like her lips are a stage
Each word a tiny dancer falling in line next to each other
While you in the audience can only marvel and think
Whoever put this show on must be a brilliant choreographer
With a mind that weaves like they move
And breathes on the sound of a violin string
Thus the energy builds
And you leap from your seat to join them
Then you open your eyes
And there you are
Your lips locked with hers
Breaking character with reality
Drenched in the spotlight

So bear with me because i'm trying to figure out what life was
     You know
     What it used to be
and what it is now
        and if i'm doing life correctly
like if the sweat on my brow
       is supposed to weigh me down this much

so i asked a couple on a walk
    what is life
and they sarcastically answered that life is a box of chocolates
  You never know what you're going to get
i believe that saying died out
when single flavor boxes of chocolates were invented
so we're left to wonder
and stumble
and realize what life means just before we die
because everyone always told us
    *you're too young to understand this just yet