the way your lips
and your eyes
make my skin grow scarlet
and my insides stir
the planes of your face
as I caress my fingers across your
cheekbones,
your eyelids,
the skin behind your ear and the
muscles under the sheer cotton of your shirt
they make me want to do to you what
a summer breeze does to the dandelions

The most beautiful flower

Within a field of growing weeds and brown leaves

It seems to take up all the light

besides all the dead and despair around it

Its petals are moist and the colors seem to change
to whatever they need to protect themselves from.

But, the blossom is too beautiful. 

Too consumingly appealing to whomever laid their eyes on it.

The sun’s rays were getting jealous and did no longer
want to shine on the pleasing leaves -
or on the strong roots or its inviting colors -
as they took away their shine and

were now filled with contempt.
Most of all the rays were jealous of what the flower could do.

Embezzle. Inspire and create. Dazzle.

It dazzled me.
The flower could not only extract happiness from its surroundings but it also gave.

It gave love. Love and comfort and happiness, friendship and enjoyment.
It gave a way for men to see through the bad and look at the good.

It tasted so sweet.



The flower fought, spurting out at some cautious moment
but it could not win

For it needed the rays gentle touch to grow and to

Exist.
Long after men spoke of the waste.

How such a beauty had perished,

And its power was no longer there to greet them like an old friend.

It was now only a myth,

One that no one really could remember

as it felt like a dimly lit memory,
one that played a yet unknown role in whatever faith there is to come.
It was not the beauty that men remembered now.

Only the waste.

As the good leaves no scars, and is scarcely treasured how it should.

But oh the waste. They spoke.
Such a waste.

My gut
is a gaping hole
where the pieces
simply fall through its emptiness.

My heart
is a pounding piece of flesh
where the pulse
creates a frantic scratch,
like the nails on a schoolboard.

My head
is a messy forest
where the branches
inhibit visitors
to pass and explore

I crave to touch his skin
in my mind it feels so soft
and divine
In my dreams he lies with his arms around me
the way we used to lay
His hand with
all ten of his fingers
would wrap
around my arms and my wrists and my fingers
Every small piece of him
would be with every piece of me
as to not make our bodies lonely
He’d gently push away a string of my hair
to free the skin lying underneath
as to make room for his lips to kiss all these
undiscovered places.
My hands were to explore him,
tracing my fingers along to wherever they would reach
So then when I would find myself alone
I’d be able to remember all those little places and parts that
I would eventually be terrified of forgetting
I can still recall
how my naked body would move with his
and how we were
in perfect harmony

Please make love to me
For the sake of the trees on top of the hill
They stand there alone and dry
Yet happily for they are surrounded by the city and the people
Peacefully alone in the sun they await
Every day, and every night
Even though their branches might shake and shiver
they will not break;
their roots are deeply engraved into the soil of this mountain
they stand on

Do you remember that time when we stayed over after that party? We slept in the back room, on an air mattress for two, and at 6.30 it was already so light that we were woken up by the heat coming from outside, because of the bright sun coming through the window. We were naked and just had a little blanket to cover our heated bodies. I kissed you on your chest and your cheeks and your face and we just lay there, touching, and feeling and I couldn’t help but to caress my fingers across the softness of your skin. We had such a long time before the world would wake up, I just enjoyed smelling you and looking at you, and being with you, so close for just those few hours, when you didn’t build up any walls and where it was just you and me and our souls carried by these bodies that fitted so well together. We’d have *** half awake and then I’d lay on your chest, making sure your heart was beating this steady pace, while you fell asleep again. And my heart was so so full.

It felt complete, and full and my being sighed once or twice because it could finally breathe and taste the soft moist air that was love.
I’d glance over to you from time to time, trying to wake you up with my kisses and wanting more, always more of you. I remember my heartbeat, the smile that was plastered on my face and the immense joy that seared through from my crooked toes up to the broken ends of my hair.

It was real, and it was utterly absolute.

I wish life would have enabled us to love each other,
to give us that peace of mind and tranquility
we search for in each other
and find it within ourselves

I cannot breathe, for the raindrops pester the sound of the memories that slowly fade away.

I cannot lie, for I have not yet ascertained whether the floor will hold me.

I cannot embrace

What is not there

I could hear her anger.
By the was she threw around
pots and kettles in the kitchen
she was doomed to be in.
The way her fork reached for the beans in the jar
It was so fierce and malicious.
Even grinding the pepper in the colourless rice felt like a ****** stab in his ribcage.
All the while he just waited,
Embarrassed by her tirade and indecisive of what he was to do.
So his eyes just closed.
Feigning ignorance
and sleep.

She felt as though the minutes were her tears and they were so plentiful and so keen,
and felt so deafening as they slowly embedded in her flesh.
As her eyes kept weeping, the hands of the clock kept moving, so slowly they moved, yet time kept passing somehow.

It was sort of an art form, this love
I was certainly a piece of work

And it made us think, and feel and
open our eyes in wonder and awe
while our mouths and lips pondered on what our hearts
were doing

We screamed and fought
Cried out words that spoke of love and defeat

Always sealed with our naked bodies
ending up intertwined somehow

they made up the final brushstroke of a masterpiece
and the last note was sang while our hearts were breaking on a stage made up of broken promises and salty tears

Your smell is intoxicating and as I pretend to read the article before me, you lean over to look for the answers that might be written in de tedious words or just in the way you say my name.
It’s sometimes difficult to look into your eyes and pretend like I’m just answering a question while I’m really conveying secret messages that are so full and so deep, and too much is revealed when I look into those brown depths, so instead I drift off to your eyebrows…
your cheeks…
and my eyes wander over to your lips, those full lips...

But those make me feel all other sorts of things
so I just look around, pretending to see something in the unappealing bright lights of the classroom, stumbling over my words and finally,

I give up and stop existing altogether.

When you were gone there was a sort of silence and peace
but it wasn't a silence of forgetting and finally's

It was a silence of growing in love
with how much I had missed you
and how much I had loved you
and how familiar it was to feel you near

Not physically
but in my head and in my heart
I had kept a place for you there
without even knowing it

It was nice and cosy
and there were flowers everywhere
the smell was overwhelming and the air was thick and moist of

love

I had become so much better at loving you from
afar

I wanted to capture the moment
So I tried, but I couldn't, so I just stopped and

looked around

Breathing in the life that
surrounded me

I had missed you

And as I got you back,
I realized

I had missed me
too