Maybe, maybe, maybe
Maybe you love me or maybe
it’s an illusion of what I so deeply
yearn to feel.

Maybe I’m just in love with the idea
of what could be
Maybe it’s not us who are meant to be

Maybe love isn’t for us
Maybe we’re going in the wrong direction
Maybe we need more than just someone to trust
Maybe we have too high expectations

Maybe I love you
Maybe I don’t
Either way, maybe you need to know.

I want to be in a love like this forever.
With your eyes grazing my skin,
Following your circling fingertips.
You touch me in a way, so delicately,
So lovingly, like you actually care.
Your kisses that you place on my forehead
As I’m drifting off into paradise
Remind me what spring love is supposed to look like.
The grass under my toes pull me into the present
While we dance across the lawn with our hands intertwined.
Butterflies zig zag across my vision and you spin me around.
The music drowns out all of our other problems.
And life feels beautiful.
When I’m in my sundress and
You’re watching me from our picnic blanket
You tell me you love me, and my heart begins to flutter.
The last days of cold are erased by your beautiful laugh
The warmth of sunlight and the soft cool breeze
Further pushes our passion and solidifies our feelings.
You grip my waist and lift me into the air.
Time feels rosy and fair, while the birds chirp and call.
With no real agenda, without the controlling menace of time.
We hold hands and spend the afternoons enjoying the bliss.
The newly bloomed flowers and reappearance of green
Feels like a long awaited, highly anticipated surprise
As does our relationship.
We take in the pink skies together,
Hoping we will never have to say goodbye,
Affectionately kissing one another.
Knowing this is a time we will always miss.
Spring, is a time for new beginnings.
It is the perfect time, for a love like this.

We're inadequate
and imperfect souls seeking
Love in a flawed world

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

you were everything right,
everything perfect.
i couldn't muster up greater words than,
'i love you'.
you are the sun after the rain,
the breezes in autumn that make me feel like i'm supposed to be here,
the white trees at the edge of spring.
no flower could compare to you.
your overflowing passion,
and compassion
made me feel alive.
jaw dropped and heart open,
i knew you are the one,
you were always the one.
i don't know how i've managed to live without you all this time.  
my last puzzle piece,
the person who tied everything together.

intoxicated
it's easy to forget you

sober
you're all i think about

clear choice isn't it?

my muse is my sorrow,
if it did not exist i would not find beauty in the rain nor solace in my pain.
it'll always find different ways to manifest,
but at least it is safe to say
it is no longer my unwelcome guest.

flowers grow in the holes
of her ever more romantic dreamin's
she fills in the picture with pastel hero's
their colors fade then fire as her passions run
vivid at a moment's of his heartfelt embrace
faded as his wicked smile fails to ******
she is drawn to the artistic brief time in hand
fascinated by the workings of the mysterious mind
how create rainbows from the dusty nuance expressed
create love from an abundance of words delicately devoted
cede to the child hand within us
the joy and discovery
making gentle rain from the hard snow
of making yesterdays into an epiphany of beauty lost
how to be the source and author of true loves song

while she is taming the mare
he trims the overgrowth
while she entertains with tea and crumpets
he is chopping the wood
while she dances within loves light
he chips away at the stone hearth
these are no lovers
just strangers embraced

her inner field of flowers
a swath of rose red bordered by summer greens
ever an insurrection against winters hand
saving every sprout and budding leaf
single-handedly stemmed the tide
as Autumn steals away with all of the summers life
he is her part-time hero
obsessed with his grand gesture
dismissive of the intangible cold touch
she paints him in pastel
but his is a life of watercolor running in the rain
a minister of hammers
the only spark within is that
of the violence of the iron wrought anvil
no heartstring to gather up
to weave a life from

she will mourn his leaving
caught up in the divinity
always found in yesterday's sorrows
bound in the confines of her heart
he will always be the part-time hero
he will never leave
in the loss of yesterday's sorrows

I remember sitting on the front porch, curled up in a wicker chair with a pen and a pad of paper
the early June afternoon sun going down over my smalltown, casting a golden glow on the blacktop,
writing a poem about loneliness
and wondering whether everyone else around me
driving by in that car,
walking their dog,
stirring that drink at the bar,
was as lonely as I was

whether their heart also longed for something more
or felt a loss for what they never reached for in the first place
whether they were settling and giving up on their dreams

or had they finally decided to go for it,
That job
That person
That trip
That thing that makes their heart beat faster and gets their blood flowing
That thing that makes them feel free

or was I the only one,
in a world overflowing with people,
could I be the only one who gave it all up,
too afraid to make the change my soul was aching for?