Oh beautiful flower

Your petals are falling

Your stem is bending

Your scent is fading.

What kind of flower are you?

Not bright or tall

Nor colored or warm

You stand out amongst them all.

A flower so keen on the heat of the sun

And the chill of the night

With the wind you will run.

For the pretty and the perfect flowers

Are a comforting sight

But the flower thats different

Makes a difference in life.

we sit on the floor
and peel tangerines
and feed them
to each other

i can almost taste
the summer heat
and the foreign
sweetness
of someone else's
mouth and teeth

like last weeks' laundry
blowing in the wind,
things softly float away
ever so slowly

we twist
and turn
in a dreamlike state.
so the sun's speckles,
stars, and softer skin
will always deceive me

upon the afternoon of snow..of his wandered love
he sang his blue guitar into the wintry sky
life burst into snow
the falling snow
...towards dusk he gathers the fallen sky
piling in her heart
and walks her home
and all at once
they arrive
they become.

we laugh about death
yet it still lingers at the end of our breaths

I hear a distant melody outside my window
being swarmed by the music of crickets,
and the sighs of the cold wind
it gets fainter and fainter
with every sad breath
and every heartache
my distant melody

my arm is numb
my fingers tingly

i think this must be
a friendly reminder of my
mortality

gently, i respond
"no need, sir
i am a walking
existential crisis

fear of death
and i are well
acquainted"

i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it