I find beauty in many places,
Seldom in others’ faces.

The seventy fourth time I believed you
I finally realised I should probably stop
And within a millisecond I knew I always would
I always thought people could change
And because you changed everything about who I used to be
I knew I would always believe you
Because that's the only part of myself I still have
It's the part I'm still waiting for you to change

He is my constant rain when my world is drying out,
When the fountain of love is emptied by the people I care about
When the things I hear are all lies and there is no chance to shout
When my heart starts to harden and all I feel is doubt

He is my precious angel when I'm like a falling star
When my wings are both broken from a thousand wars
When I need a true confidant, he never seems afar
When I think of those things about him, I remember who you are.

I think of her often but
I only sometimes let her know.
She colors her lips purple
and kisses cigarettes, and leaves
purple marks on her glasses.
I know she thinks of me,
At times.
Maybe when she has wiped her color
and she is holding a cup,
maybe she sees me
in the refection of herself
in clear tea.
And when it is late at night
and she has stepped out in cold,
to smoke her last cigarette
and I am asleep.
Possible, that she thinks of me
and I dream about,
only her.

Perhaps this generation has lost the art of mystique
To keep oneself pure
To be loved fully
To be embraces with sincerity
Perhaps I've lost my art of mystique
To guard my heart...

beneath the tethered astronaut of his dream

the impossible boy
misses

something small

the human ear, its recent
brush
with whale

He lived his eighty years well,
they said

he often knotted his wrinkled hands around the smooth fleshed hands of his grandchildren

still, his heart gave out eventually,
swollen with love

I went to his funeral, a bystander,
an intruder of grief

I take flowers to his grave,
purple tulips with petals

that eat up rain clouds
and sunlight like a ****,

taking nourishment from
the red and white roses that
neighbour them

photosynthesis,

I recall the word,
from chemistry classes
an age ago

I never knew him, though
I got his name from a newspaper obituary I ideally flicked through at 4am

I had never known old age, you see
and it seemed beautiful to me