Even he was envious of her solitude. She was never not cloaked in the warmth of her own bubble. She was consoled in a demure susurrus, and never missed a kiss with the mist of air, alluring every inch of her body to coalesce with ethereality. Her skin shivered. So did his. How did the stillness linger amidst the commotion, the row, the function? It was inevitable. He almost believed she was only a feast for the sightseers, a prey for those who despised idleness at night. But good God, did she move! Did she swing her fingertips in a melodious number! Did she blink her emeralds to blind those with unfortunate, degraded gems! And did she turn to look and lift the corners of her lips, into a form that could be misconstrued, both if it were and were not responded! And did his body defy his mind, when he could only see her go, and witness his failure to speak and his success to listen. And did his mind defy his heart, when the path to his love was obstructed by the thoughts of no one but his own.

I want to shove
this pillow into my heart

maybe that way
I’ll feel more alive.

I wish I could speak moon
the blazing rays
complimenting the motion
of your presence

I wish I could speak wind
the breeze
******* through the
mahogany, that is your hair

I wish I could speak rose
my petals, my crown
my scent, the embodiment
of your one-of-a-kind allure

I wish I could speak water
shrinking my way to
quench your thirst
killing whatever it is killing you

And so I wish I could speak human
the longing of my tongue
concealed behind these lips
for yours to caress mine

I wish my life to be
a Kings of Convenience melody

soothing, carefree
guitar fiddling
voice calming
an easy listening

a blend of yellow and green

I wish my life to be
a Sigur Rós dream

an ethereal realm
an unearthly feel
a good foreign kind
edible for the mind

a fusion of night and coffee

And last,
I wish my life to be
The Maine’s “We’ll All Be…”

estranged but familiar
a place to call home
haunting and vivid
a place for good music

‘with a song to sing along’

Under the oak tree, I chant a pray
why have I never seen her this way?
no one’s ought to meet her by day
why is she beneath the cloud grey?

Under the oak tree, I bide
these leaflets, blinding my sight
but I know, it’d be too bright
for I’m blinded by the moonlight

Under the oak tree, I stand
should I attempt to raise a hand?
are you demure for you’ve been manned
should I try and lend you a hand?

Beyond the oak tree, I fly
gazing at you right in the eye
too much a beauty for birds to pass by
I can see the stars, they cry

Last, on the moon, I land
I can hear music but there was no band
have I, somehow, been shammed?
I witness nothing, ‘tis all but sand

Beyond the moon [her], I go
I couldn’t believe, but now I know
that the moon was a total blow
nothing, not even Van Gogh

Under the oak tree, I lie
now may I conclude the reason why
she’s solely a decor to the sky

Under the oak tree, I sleep
before dreams begin to creep
there was a question I need to flip;

how did I fall
so deep?