Hey sleepy head?
                                                          ­    Where are you tonight?

Are you standing in the corner?
          Over by the white christmas lights?

                                                        ­                   With a miscellaneous mug,
                                                            ­                                   Stolen from not-your-kitchen cabinet.

Are you not ever tired?
              Do you never sleep?

                                                         ­                                                    And when you do,
                                                                          What could you possibly dream?

                                     Of red and white flowers?
                                                *no

  ­   Of bombs destroying towers?
               no

                                                Of illustrated novels about foxes?
                                                          ­                                           no
Do you dream of anything?
                Or is your soul as empty,
  
                                                                                                    As your eyes seem to be?
                                                             ­                       And when I kiss you,





                            *why do you turn away from me?

That word has lost it's meaning and its use has fallen short.*

The camera lens is cold and feels nothing except mathematical equations, performing actions; much like a part of the world that keeps you and I in chains.
But if I look at it, it looks at you and that is all I want to do right now.
So I can bare the cold for a just a little while, because warmth is waiting in patience

You called me timeless once.
            I had not felt such a heartbeat in so long.
...like drums in the forest...

              I am timeless?
My dusk,
          if you were a clock,
      it would melt into water and seep into the fissures of my heart.

Tomorrow
                  may not arrive but you know my
yesterday
                  and you are my
today.

So take my hand and the universe will be our ballroom.
                                                                ­The stars can be our audience and the sea can be the orchestra.

If the garden you were plucked from emanates the
musical and breathtaking fragrance
where you tread,
then it is where beauty first was born.

Forgive me but you have captured my attention and I will not use that word.


My lips can show you what waits within those fissures
and my eyes can tell you what words fail to comprehend.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XZkLmomNgA

Its my daughter's first birthday. I  haven't seen her yet.