Maybe if I step on
enough flowers
or break
enough  
hearts  
I just might forget
I'm made of broken parts

Chance, a wise man's wizened lips would say it is the one terrible thing,
a slightly wide-eyed, a little dreamer of yet another wise man said

"This lovely celestial thing that lives in the pockets of those shy hopefuls.
Who are all pressed lips, closed hands.
It is all those cold e m p t y spaces
within
your warm soul
no-one has
quite
lived in."

There's always an
inexplicable something
about all things old.

Maybe, these yellowing, crinkled, slightly forgotten
-slipped off the inky azure of the mind's corners-
have felt the way a pair of lips
moves & crinkles
as
they make
wide-eyed wishes and closed mouth good-byes.

I stand here with winter-bitten
fingers & bare ankles..

I never needed much
when you were aways just a quickened heartbeat away from my own.