I’m happy just to dance with you, free as a bird.
The night before, words of love
In spite of all the danger,
Crying,
Waiting,
Hoping
Because you really got a hold on me.
Tomorrow never knows the honeymoon song, so hold me tight,
Any time at all in my life.
I want to tell you it’s only love,
A little rhythm.
A day in the life is a taste of honey
From me to you, getting better.
I will love you to a shot of rhythm and blues.
It won’t be long till there was you,
The end of the long and winding road,
To strawberry fields forever within you,
Without you.

poems set yourself
far apart from
everything
out of what you are.
the bursting heart in this world
calls for pencils,
one small poem for
selfish rhyme.
maybe it’s all good,
but to say so takes too much.

The red and orange leaves
Remind me of a time
Where there was a simple breeze.

And she seemed so at peace,
And her long strands of hair remind
Me of the red and orange leaves.

He offered me wine and cheese,
And I could not accept, for it was a crime
Where there was a simple breeze.

And he cried, and his please
Ring in my ear, “Send mine
Love to the red and orange leaves.”

Somewhere in the trees,
I can hear her cries
Where there was a simple breeze.

Regret burns in me, for it sees
Unrequited love die in time
Of the falling red and orange leaves
And the stillness where there was once was a simple breeze.

We had casted on one evening,
The beginning slip knot
With a tail trailing behind,
Of some color neither of us could see,
Of some length we couldn’t determine.

Slowly but surely, we made
Awkward, new stitches,
Sometimes pausing,
Sometimes constant.
The yarn shimmered rainbow,
Neverending,
Not quite perfect, but it felt more
Intimate that way.

We spent almost too much time on our first row,
Our second,
Our third,
Knitting yarn laced with endless
Memories,
Stories,
Laughs,
And a certain fondness that was new and
Exhilarating.

We pause,
Our hands tired and aching
Through the hard, tedious hours.
We admire the gorgeous cabling of our
Best days,
The ugly, bumpy, knotted purling of
Our worst.
The yarn is crumpled and twisted
From when we had to rip and
Start over.
Wear and tear,
Passionate red and bruised blue,
Stockinette and dropped stitches.
This is what beautiful is.
A scarf that forever winds around us,
Pulling us closer and keeping us warmer.

On shadows yonder, that is what you fear against, that rain he is wondering, spilling over like dreams. To cry when the words have begun, to turn to my desires, just seven wonderous seconds. A trapdoor you were falling through drifts across the sea. How to shake my nerves when he must dance for them, how to paint after the ending? He burns the sky with his blood. Soft endearments surround the ideal. Even if you can’t speak the rhythm, we are just a part of time. I keep this treasure to build my dreams. I fly this soul to carry you.

Designed in flurries, I’m thrown onto a soul and slipping on rain. Someone hears none of his wishes walk, what do I mean “none”? What do I mean “his”? I’m collecting your dust on a leaf as if you’re crawling into my own nothingness. We turn on the bottles, so I can’t escape you. You’re that sinful, beastly, an old form of story. Ah, I believe, therefore I grow the gold I split myself on.

You are the midnight purple
Of tonight's sky, the blood red
That stains my wounds, the tender blue
Of bruised eyelids, the sting of orange
Juice on the cracked lip, the vibrant green
Of a newborn bud, barely yellowed.

Time passes as your face embraces ancient yellow,
And your fingertips turn purple,
But you are still as beautiful as young green,
Sophisticated like the bold of red
Satin, the memory of orange
Peels left on the table, the shock of blue

Frostbite, then a deeper ocean blue,
Or a brighter yellow
Bee, suckling on a decaying orange
Flower, bruising purple
From wear and tear of the red
Blazing fire, which will yield, someday, to youthful green.

Will you lay with me in the aged green
Grass, or gaze at the blue
Sky? Will you pluck red
Roses, be nicked by their yellow
Cynicism of the world, of men? I am but purple
Patience, the complement of your orange.

I watch you **** on sweet orange
Slices, tear apart green
Leaves with sticky fingers. I watch you with purple
Adoration, and I hunger for your blue
Eyes, your buzzing yellow
Cheer, your certain fondness for red.

I kiss your cheeks of rosy red,
Flushed from your orange
Desire to see the yellow
Sun. You look to the fresh green
Horizon, to the new blue
Sky, and I realize I am not your love of purple.

I cannot bear to watch you embrace red, or purple,
Or orange or blue,
For I am green with envy and full of desire yellowed.

i am the caffeinated Hours of my Children
who expect me to distill their Dreams
so they can dance with Reality

i am Constant
hurting from the blinded Kiss between
Your Toe and the glass Door

i am the Aftermath, the new Beginning
the Realization that Your bed is empty, cold
the ironic Affinity of my shiver and Your miraculous warmth

i am an autonomic Machine,
a double Entendre of Monotony
the Routine You never realized

i wait for You
because You make me all of this
and That is all ive ever wanted