Nothing could turn me away from you…

No frame.

No shoe commercial.

I’m fixated on your conversation…

It brings me great joy to hear your elation.

I like you the way I've seen…

Passing by,
or settling.

I don’t know why that would be a good idea…

I need you near.

I need you here...

But you move away at the pass of a check…

Keeps me in line.

Keeps me at bay...

She told me so clearly,

“Don’t listen to what I say.”

I return to the place
where my heart's been ripped out
so that everyone can see…

I look for the one
who will put it back in its place.

It’s well after midnight
and the world is not a friend…

It’s something you held close,
as it brought you to your end.

I wish to not pretend,
as she looks earnest enough...

It turned to me
out of a magazine
on a computer screen
that I had screened
within a dream.

I felt her hair brush against what I held near…

She was there,
but now she laughs...

Like she doesn’t have a care.

It’s all so sad,
but not the least bit…

Because how you're doing
is none of my business.

A type to be
and the personification
of something I can understand

Look at me
I am your man,
breathing letters
into your hands.

A face that I could love
better than two doves leaving.

My face is a response,
alive and moving in your direction
to grab as passing wings flap.

No instruments of self destruction left,
a slight slander that is actually a blessing.

Could you receive me in perfect congress?

Maybe even with all the people
who don’t know any better…

Or when to just say yes.

With velvet tears
and dyes made out of leers
Who cares who hears?

Let's silence these fears
And learn to be...

And never not,
No more.

They colour in dabs
that spark the streaks
long and drawn
about how this and that

don't correspond.

And out of place
to save some face
within their own space
they end and get back to the point...

back onto the same page.

But everyone's to tell
what words to those who are heard
and never to be
fall friverously on vincibility.

They seem to see...

that the sun paints me
tangerine
and tangents are all
that's ever been.

You've just got to wade it out until
you can catch the next wave.

Then you'll be soaring.

They’re pinned to pages.

Their feelings have flown away
with the last flutter of their wings.

In the index we are all in content.

Filling the pages with our individual faces…

***** we’ve all felt before
make it until the pages fold.

Kissing her in the darkness,
as the binder finds pressure between its hinges.

My larva sits in sacks waiting to be hatched.

A protein batch asks for it’s usual back
and cares so much about when it cracks.

It doesn’t think at all about the beauty that's about to be had
more than the flower it rests it’s legs upon,
or the skin of a fruit in its ripened state,
or now the rigamortus that it stills in its deathened wait…

Wait?

The beauty in what?

The obsessed,
as the butterfly net settles gently on top of another victim.

A classic beige villain cups and cards,
jars,
and pokes holes to breath.

The winged beauty is re-confined
in a place of un-metamorphoses.

Crashing into the walls
like any caged animal would.

Settling on a leaf,
while a female flips free in front of the reflections of light that plays on the atmosphere and condensation.

I clip myself and wash chemicals on my figure,
so I’ll never decay.

Suffer the stage with a name
and play the same pose that impresses without rest.

My cloudy eyes would cry if they could,
but they can't.

And all that I hope for now
is that when my counterpart ends
she’s staple to the page across from me,

so when that book is finally closed
we’ll be face to face
and our soulless remains
can finally embrace.

If you could be with someone who actually loves you
leave me right now.

I am not an anchor tied to your ankle dragging you down,
drawing you into a sea of regrets
like overboard rice
taking on too much water and becoming mushed mash,
so even when you try to save them by throwing a line,
or holding out a stick,
they’re too far gone for you to get a grip.

You’ll go unfed and your soul will starve
when old age reveals it’s long awaited scars.

Same goes for me.

I’d leave in a heartbeat that beats twice
in two.

It has nothing to do with me and you.

But in my mind she still flattens the rice out,
even and nice…

Not undercooked
and still on board
waiting to be rolled cut and served.

To me maybe...

I do not know.

So I wait patiently
with the others in line,
while our opposites wave on bye,
waiting for two peaks to meet
and two valleys
to depart.

That is a certainty
of two caught eyes.

That is the key
to a victorious heart.

Was it all worth being
blown away,
floating on by,
captured in a ray,
and then invisible
without a taste?

The ghastly dark lit place
plays positives
that would not exist
without their counterparts,
or a nagging nuance
that’s overstayed
and welcomes in
yesterday.

You can not hear it
after it leaves,
but only within
a memories dream
where imagination kisses
the glitter of the stars
and their time to shine
is spent on speaking their minds.

I still haven’t thought of an answer
to a question that I had forgotten...
(was never asked)

Before opportunity breaks preparation
and luck flees forever,
leaving usurped substance
behind in an eternal void,
I see the wind changing direction
and what I thought was lost
comes back again to greet me…

Once more
I find the thought,
and then go on
with the rest of my plot.