I remember the day we met, I remember it clear as day
I can trace my joy back to it , the way I trace the lines on your palm
I can feel the early moments still, like I feel you next to me in bed
I hear your early serenades coast over my senses, the way your hands caressed my face this morn

I remember the night of rain, the one which drenched our soul with love
I can trace my joy back to it, the way I hugged you under the moonlight breeze
I can feel your warm embrace still, like I feel you inside my heart, I gaze at the stars, they form an exceptional constellation depicting our name, we're written in the heavens
I look into your eyes from distance, and I see myself, the way the immortal sky sees itself in the majestic ocean

I remember the eve of sorrow, which brought a tornado in our lives
I remember it like I remember the day the skies settled for us, and the clouds cushioned our fall
I can trace my joy back to that sorrow, the way I trace your jawline, with kisses all the way
I can feel the rush of happy tears now, as I reminisce the tears I witnessed in your eyes, the day I got to hold you close
I remember the eve of sorrow, I remember it like the way you kissed my cheek an hour ago
I feel the tingle of your touch every time, the way I felt that first time, on the dewy eve, as it solidified into our forever

Right man at a wrong time.

help.
don’t want to be alone.
left in dismay.
with nowhere else to go.
the perpetual ignition
to the minds of synthetic decisions
left scattered like fall leaves
trailed for me to follow.
can’t always keep my weight
from crushing underneath.
the sinking punch plummeting
to the pit of my stomach.
left to reiterate the syllables
stranded for me to swallow.
help.
can anyone hear.
sometimes I don’t think
there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
the cool misty crisp.
the pregnant clouds seething,
sinking to catch teeth
with the means of you and me.
a gullible shrill thundering across
the expanse of the big grey sky,
the spit of your words cut edge
like a shower of shrapnel clinging
to the teetering stance on a flower bed.
feeling the eclipse, the weight before
the swooning slip  
as you decided to let our grip
go into ****.