It only presents her self, as a soul,
Peering through your window,
Sharing sympathies with the wind.
But your so busy in dreaming,
Reliving forgettable mirages,
Illusions into fruition.

How many meteors or stars,
Have passed you by?

How many hearts?

How many Why-s do you
Have to burn?

And so your prayers worked,
But your faith didn't.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

To breathe, I realized,
Is also to converse.
And for the first time,
That night, busy,
My body spoke in Deutsch.

The blankets fell...
...from her feet.

The pale door of Moon led us
To discovery, to agitation,
To the warmth and to the cold,
From the Philippines, then to Poland,
From covering to uncovering,
From her bed, then to the stars.

It was an extravagant...
...*******.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

It was an extravagant...
...*******.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Love, my friend,
Is Sometimes.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Forever is not possible,
But is enough,
And is now.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Big pile of hearts,
Burning,
Under
The Tree of Love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Read to me
The living poem
Inside
My dying soul.*

© 2015 J.S.P.