Landlocked love,
Stowaway hearts,
With or Without a spark.
Fire spurs out of the muddy dark,
It whimpers and cries,
Theres a deep battle inside,
The day the stowaway heart arrives.

The skinniest lover,
Have the loudest hearts.
Landlocked love,
Doomed from the start,
A watery grave,
The conversation fades,
To the depths of a page,

Landlocked lovers,
cobblestone soul,
rough embers bush up,
as the fire unfolds,
Moon lights gaze,
against the amber bleached skin,
The day will come when we can be friends.

This time last year you had dreads.
Such a labyrinth of biology tied by sweat, salt, and blood.
Laced up in a fashion of infirmity,
held together by fleeting desires.

Promises keep us floating.
Like the oxygen inlaced in driftwood.
We're densities, varying.
Fragile like a molecule, but  as durable as atom.

At the mercy of magnetism.
Vibrating deep from the core.
While waiting modestly for…
nature to carry us home.

Follow the coastline.

Escape into a bubble,
held together by a vibration,
that is resonating in my ears,
then subtract and reduce,
all thoughts,
so that the remainder is only tiny calculations,
pencil in hand,
water running down the window,
light bulb dimming.

The beat of my heart,
Has the rhythm of love,
Harmonized by the breath of a girl,

A girl with eyes blue as the sky,
Blue like the ocean water,
That danced beneath our last summer,

Let winter come,
Let the days pass by,
I want the snow to return,

My heart will say beating for you,
In the rhythm of love,

The deepest of reds.

The Passing days

From the beach water between my toes
To the dense forest under my feet,
the change has begun,
My careless eyes are beginning to care,  

2281 miles away from you,
my eyes are taken by the thought of your face,
Books are like foreign objects,
the only thing that feels natural anymore,
are the things I can't touch,

The little things,
are the only things,
that make any sense,
I hope once the rhythm  is restored,
So the dance can begin again.