I speak not of peaches, chapstick, sunrises or fallen nights.
(K)nights fought over love never found.

A(r)mor rusted over from her tears,
He always like to jump through puddles, watching the wake.

sometimes it woke his fears.




Monsters under the bed.
If only he could cross the room he’d be
      safe (-ly
                                                                                      locked away,
he lost the keys to
  the him he used to be.)


I speak not of burning trees or cherry seeds ( planted down the lane)

I've surrendered to the (k)night
but with one last thought,
I know I can win the fight.