Myrtle melted into the mattress
moments ago
from time to time
you can hear her murmur and moan
for she mourns the minutes that were mountains ago.
Her melancholy melted her
and she will never let go

So silly of me
I am putting on a good front
numb, drowning in the sea
a lullaby and a wish good night

Lying on the bed listening to slow murmurs
watching the wind blow through the old tree
hear the howling, banging on the tin roof

Cold winter afternoon
hiding in disguise
mind in a daze
pleasantly my demise

relish the sweet sound
the creaking of a door, somewhere in another room
soft foot steps on floor in the moon-lit room
A melody I hum
a song from me to you

a solo dance with no audience
the sense of content from being alone
a smile that no once sees
a secret whispered to the empty house

The sight of dandelions
spin me in the past
picking flowers for my mother, on a hot summer's day
screaming, crying, scratching from the hives
it was worth it just to see her smile for a while

Accidentally impinge a memory
seeing an old face on stranger
the smallest though so valuable
sending me into trance

So silly of me
I am putting on a good front
numb, drowning in the sea
a lullaby and a wish good night

want   like   sorry  
untitled   people  
pair   feel   touch  
just   comedy  
true   romantic   dream  
bed,   sweet   tired   child  
day;   life ;  path.  
young   mundane  
small   wise   sea  
bad   cold   years  
moist   forest  a mess  
thought   having   ripen  
mountains   far   unhappy  
the rest   looked   sad  
woke   outside  a  person  
brother   reached   dew   pines  
wind  weather    going
dear   fruit    felt    bloom        
foreseen    city    
Dark    green­    soiled    arms
protecting    slight    girl    
sleep    mind,    dreams    know­    night    
longer    morning    
good    bare    crush    
vis­it    budding    cramps   
shiver    months    haven    
ankles    underwear    shorts    
­provides    pictured    salty    
thrown    temperament   allowing   
chosen    freezing    clothes

A pear is a seed my darling dear
And if You, my sweet pear, was a sapling
it would take a thousands years
for You to be as wise as the young redwood tree
in the forest by the salty sea

You don't pick the buds off the rose bush
expecting them to blossom in Your possessive hand
You wait for the perfect moment for the bud to open
sharing her beauty with the sunlight
only then allowing You to gaze at her full glory

And a whole year has gone by for the tree
in which You call home to bloom,
The tree that provides a safe haven for You to ripen
in a burrow between her leaves
protecting You from harsh nights

My dear fruit, You are not ripen yet
You have a couple more months
bloom my sweet pear
if You are too hasty
and allow the nats to gorge on Your splendor
then You will no longer be of value to anyone

I will discard You
my lips will never kiss Your gorgeous skin
You will never be chosen at the market
tucked away in a basket
given as a precious gift.
You will be thrown
mixed into compost
to live the rest of Your days
rotting, unhappy, until You die;
A spoiled little fruit.