Sometimes your eyes have so much moving behind them,
I long to pull you into a field of buzzing wild flowers to listen to the grasses sing.

Sometimes I want to save you,
From the stones placed roughly on your chest.

But sometimes,
The answer is a baptism of hot bubbly water,
And silence,
Or noses pushed gently into sweaty necks,

Or best of all,
Vanillary skies arching over us like a tunnel of clouds and birds and blues and the sun is serene and bursting,
And our hands are lifting one another high, screaming from our lips,
'Isn't this great? I love you!'
As we walk together,
With ours eyes open,
And look up,
And listen to the grasses sing.

It's the smells,
The woody, earthy laden lift in the air.
A scent guilded in memories of twigs breaking under feet,
As I walk to the One Stop with my dad,
Wet, amber leaves stuck to his holey shoes,
The air is damp and unfaded, but lightly coated in the smoke from his roll up.

The smell,
More floral now,
Warm, heavy rain drip dropping onto vast leaves in Mexico,
The floor drier and peppery compared to it's English cousin,
My eyes locked onto the stars through pointed dancing clouds,
As if the sky has been dipped in glitter and laid out to dry in the jungle.

And now its moss,
Moss and pine and your hair.
It's both of us gazing through the foliage to catch the eye of a bird,
Our fingers brushing and clinging,
I can feel my mouth lift,
As you pull me towards your nose,
And whisper 'I love us.',
We walk,
Warm in one another's stories,
With wet socks,
And pink cheeks,
We inhabit the trees.

The wind is lifting me,
Like being plunged into the cool autumn sea,
The clouds are still a spectacle,
Whether black or pink or grey,
But the dwindling light,
And beige film,
Weigh on me,
And I'll yearn for heat spread thick across my back,
And blazing mornings filled with bird song,
But orange is a good colour,
For bodies pressed together,
And steaming drinks brought to noses,
And lips on cool, pink cheeks.

With water and air and light passing through your fingers,
You have stacked bricks,
Like butterfly wings,
Back to back,
Around me.
No entry! You shout to all the shadows,
Those that leave me spitting feathers and make my eyes dart,
I like the shadows that you cast,
Your body warm and soft and tracing me,
The shadows that line my garden,
As the ice cream sky breathes,
Bring me slowness,
Just as you do with your rising chest,
And make me better.

The gentle roll
Of unspoilt land
Goes on and on and on,
Endless shades of green
Pouring into one another
And then into my eyes.
Wide skies and cascading light,
Luminate bark and the scent of growth,
And change,
Or both.
I crave the sea,
To lap away my aches,
But I ache for you,
Each bone pulsing your name.

But I find stillness in the clouds,
A white cloth of calm,
A lullaby.

Tall, jewelled trees,
Swim by like clouds,
Flashing as they catch the sun.
My skin warm and my head boardered in fuzz,
Blurring out the mechanical thoughts and leaving soft and tender memories of you,
To wash me clean of anguish,
But the distance,
Space and time,
Sometimes fills my vision,
And leaves my mouth dry.
Watching the moon wax and wane,
Signals the passing of time,
Though I'd never urge the clock,
I do watch shadows move,
And bend,
And inevitably,
The glow of you intensifies in my mind.

These eyes of yours,
Coaxing me into warmth.
You gather around me,
Like moss on the bark of an old oak.
Palms pressed against the trunk of me,
You seal the gaps in my fractured heart.