music is like a psychedelic masterpiece
every wild piece will sculpt harmony
within the imagination
songs are composed from the vivid paint
of our joy
an impression on canvas.

I taste the moon on nights like this.
The smell of damp grass opens my memories flood gates.
Everything rushes in.
Every soft kiss.
Every rushed fight.
Every unkept argument.
Then the way the moon lit up our bedroom.
Our.
We always hated those words didn't we?
Now as the orange-ish glow sets in and
It grows quickly. I think of you.
Your scent.
Your fragrance.
Alluring and entrapping me.
In you, I taste the moon.

Cry.
   (but shed no tears)
Laugh.
   (but do not smile)
Hurt.
   (but feel no pain)
Love.
   (but have no heart)
Live.
   (but do not dream)
Die.
   (but do not decay)
Emotions
   .**** and steal and open.
Emotions
   .cause tears and hurt and Life.
Emotions
                 >FLY<
(you dream, you die -)
             YOU LIVE

I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."