Flowers
are the least perfect gifts
for this heart-shaped day.

Flowers that live a lifetime,
for a puppy's affection
only to be left behind with hope
on closed open eyes.

Flowers molded for the sweet tooth,
expensive but delicious,
so easily consumed
in just a few bites.

Flowers fresh from the waking hour,
fragrant they may be,
wilt and are discarded easily.

Seek not for flowers for this day of days,
but for a flame rekindled in many ways.

Never keep a jar of hearts
They can easily be used,
broken, and
discarded as one would please.

But instead keep a bottle of stars,
you can have as many as you wish,
pluck them at anytime, and
watch them shine brighter than the sun.

She is the color of passion ー
    The heated sighs and whispers
    of promises to be broken in
    cold, lonely nights.

She is the color of kisses ー
     Chafed and bruised in stolen
      Moments, never to be
      experienced again.

She is the color of scorn ー
      Laughter, icy and vengeful,
      over desperate pleas as they
      fall to Bitter ears.

She is the color of women,
      of mother and child,
      Forgotten and forsaken ー
      a ransom paid for one eternal
      Night.

There is beauty in the way she unravels herself to me.
How she plucks on the strings of her well-worn corset of flesh,
With fingers skimming over the buttons and hooks that made her once distant to me.
Stripping the clothes of Herself until she stands naked as a baby.
Placing her Trust in the cradle of my arms and her Heart in my hands.

There is beauty on how she self-destructs infront of me.
The prismatic glass pieces of her soul scattered like fallen snow
As I hammered through it with an ice pick of words, lies and promises to be kept.
Her tears ****** dry as the last falls down like a diamond discarded.

Again, I am paralyzed ー
Confined in my box of a room
as I am stricken with this strange fever, you see.

And now, here I lie - spread-eagle and stillー
to dawn on how thoughtd turn quickly
Like the crack of Dusk.

I am not sure if I'm lucid or not ー
Adrift in my dream-like Now
Because I am afraid to wake up
To the glint of Reality's stainless Blade.

I confess, it is a sight to see ー
The sought after Light at the end
Be swallowed by the Hole I'm in.

Where I find myself Falling ー
Falling ー
Falling ー
Away from the Light and down the Abyss.

Does it feel like geting lost in a foreign yet familiar place?
Or is it like a smile under the rain?
Is it like losing your lover's love?
Or does it feel like nothing at all?

I confess, words cannot express
This feeling ー
Of Falling without End ー
Of Falling without End...

This silent predator is neither Friend nor Foe,
because it attacks when one least knows.
Before you know it, when the calm follows the storm ー
It has covered you like Pinatubo's sable-colored ash.

Deep in the valley
Beyond the setting sun's reach ー
Mists of the unknown.
Where the living fear to tread
and the dead lives on and on.

Little boys should be taught ー
            That tears are okay
            That girls are not toys.

Little girls should understand ー
            That the world is not a doll's house
            That boys are china vases too.

Whenever I would wake
at the asscrack of sunrise,
I long to taste
the bitter mint in your mouth,
and rouged up lips
from last night
and every night before that.

Spectrum of colors after a moment's shower.
The warm feeling 'round a fresh cup of cocoa.
Stolen and returned glances of the heart.
The feeling of relief on passing a test.
Chubby cheeks cooing from its cradle.
Brightly wrapped gifts under a tree.
Cheerful barking and wagging of tails.
Symphony of whistles and whispers of the day.
Three words, eight letters, three syllables.

Little things we take for granted.