singing is the song
song the singer be
in any other world
but a world set free

Longing
Becoming
Inherent
To me
I am yearning
Her turning
Her head back to see
In my imagery
Vividly
Visions of us
In eternally
Wondering
Wandering trust
Reaffirmed in a gesture,
A word
A display
I can’t wait
To embrace you
And next to you lay
Every night if I have to
Be glad to
Awake
To the unruly mess
Of your hair
That we make
To escort you again
To consort with you
Lend
What my pen
Can’t report
In these letters I send

When you kissed me, I lied.

I let you kiss me because I wanted someone to love me.  
I was selfish, I wanted to soothe my craving for attention, soft and kind love.

It’s because you’re warm and safe, I still do get the urge to trust you with love.
In fact you’re handsome while so insecure.

But I shouldn’t have kissed you, because I knew I didn’t want you but your aroma.
I chewed it and played with it to spare your feelings and to ebb my shame

but believe me, I’m happy to have made your acquaintance on that awful day that appeared on paper as perfect.
On the day when the last one I loved, introduced me to you

I have this way of waking up
I fill my senses with the scent of spring time
I wonder if, left alone for a while,
I will begin to grow flowers from my skin
And if they will be as beautiful as my memory is
I listen to daybreak’s sweet delusions
Blurred in a rose-colored candor
And cultivated in a cooling soil

I open my eyes

It is not springtime
It never will be, again
I rise from my grave and I walk
Phantom petals falling in my wake