I lie in bed
awake till 2,
Every night
To honour you.
I wrap myself in
Tears and wine,
To take away all my
Spare time.
I tell myself that
I’m okay,
Listen to Muna
Stayaway.
But I can’t breathe without
Your breath,
Without your depths I have
No depth.
I’m hollow and I’m filled
With pain,
Couldn’t bare to
Love again.  
I lie in bed
Awake till 2,
That’s all that I know
How to do.

I will write happy
I am resigned to it.
It is hard in some ways,
Not throwing gut punches in ink.
Not entreating with the stars to make something of passing passions.
I used to be so filled with longing.
Well, I still am
But now it is ever satisfied.

And you deserve love poems,
The top shelf kind.
Because you make me feel love
not wish for it
or pine.

I don't feel the need to abstract you.
But  I have you.
You have me, and it's the happiest thing I can think of.
And all my friends are tired of hearing it.
So I have to write happy.
So I can write about you.

I used to be able to
Sit at random tables
And introduce myself
Like it was nothing.

I used to have
Confidence.
Enough to stride
Into every situation
With optimism
And tenacity.

I’ve changed in many ways
Some good, some bad.
But this is one thing
I’d like to have back.

Much adored is the dead poet

Within the glass case
Away from dirt
Amongst the books pressed
Rests his heart

Such was the silence he dreamed
When words streamed
Like riverine flow
In all might arose
Seeking the order in chaos

Orderly bound now his name
In peace standing behind wooden frame
Yet with the ceaseless commotion of wait...

Much adored rests the dead poet.

Don't wear life.
For it clings to you from birth to death.
It's etched with tales of triumphs and woes. When it's on you, it entices you to dance with passion, embrace the strife,until we stumble down, to the silent ground.

I want you for your voice is a quiet rumble,
a crackling fire's song.
And when you speak my fears, all crumble.
I cannot part from you for long.

I want you for your dark eyes are warm spring soil
nurturing pale first leaves.
Your personality for mine, a perfect foil,
each action meeting a secret need.

I want you for ******* you my dear, is essential;
it is part and parcel and key.
Do not think me un-sentimental;
for you mean all this and more to me.

You're each direction on my compass: North, South, East, and West.
You are where I find my laughter, my passion, and my rest.

Vinyl black as Jet
on Whitby cliffs
the needle smoothly lifts

Then delicately
touchces down like a 747...
to create as sound that's crisp

Feel it's contours
rough yet smooth
serenading your fingertips

Head back
eyes closed
vibrations born from needles kiss

Tranquil in this
midnight hour
cradelled in nostalgic bliss

Free me with your
melodic power
my worries are eclipsed