I recall the beauty of a warm, spring day
and the sound of birds singing in the month of May.
I dream of flowers and streams nearby
and the clear, blue, hypnotic, dazzling sky.
I can almost remember the scent of daffodils in the air,
with green meadows around, all seems fair.
Lost is the gravity of the hands of time,
as I dream of springtime in another rhyme.

Girl of imagery, of MacBook and Photoshop.  
In a Skype conference with designers and
Project Managers across
Europe,  

Smiling to me when I enter the room
Quietly; she's working. I was in Sweden
With the guys. Bragging. She's good for
You, they said, raising

Beer cans around the fire. Woman
Accepted, dear brother!
A little too drunk, I felt, to phone her from
The hill with reception. No need. She'd

Texted me: Sverre, I am perfect for you;
As you are for me. I adore your energy
Around me. The thought of you
Dances around in my head

Like my last marble, playing pinball with
My insecurities and confidences,
Scoring, then dropping, being
Thrusted back out, making PINGS and

PONGS, and my knees weak. I love taking
Care of you, between all your cares taken of
Me. By Odin, I love you, my one true
Man.

Woman, you turn down all other
Volumes, leaning back with eyes closed
When I read for you. Naming me poet,
But I see now; there's not a medium in

This world you cannot tame and utilize.
I've painted with you, now write with me.
You are a rock star superwoman.
All I can teach you, is that attitude.

One day you'll be sitting there
Thinking about me.
And I'll be somewhere,
Doing the exact same thing,
Thinking about me.

this is the story of a boy
the story of memories turned blue
of what could have been if dreams were true

this is the story of nothingness
that hollow feeling when love decays
the story of a dead blaze
of dried out bouquets

this is the story of second chances
of slow dances
and midnight chandeliers
the story of a boy

I can't say what I want to you,
because it is held up in my chest,
I want to scream and let it out,
but I fear that is not best.
They always say never show your hand,
for a modest man is admirable,
but now I must make my stand,
and put myself all in,
by telling you that I love you.
It is not just a love that you see in the flicks,
or the type that you read in the books,
my love is like a thousand bricks,
landing upon your head.................

**** the formalities. **** the artistry.
There is no art in love,
there are no metaphors,
similes,
onomatopoeias...
There is only that unheard of force which keeps me going,
the battery to my soul,
the engine to my heart.
There is only that unheard of lift when I hear your voice,
it flies me above the clouds,
letting me see what I can be.
The only art which I can see,
which involves loves beauty,
is the masterpiece that the lord made,
when he graced us with you my fair maid.