.
■■■■■■
|.....l.....|
|.....l.....|
• let the
ticks on
my wri-
st•mirr-
or   that
of     my
pulse    •
for  what
i fail to cle-
nch in fist•in
my heart, nev-
er falters; never
•••••dulls•••••
□□□□□■12■□□□□□
  ■11            ^              1■  
■10                 I                 2■  
■9                    ●----->         3■  
■8                                      4■
■7          ­                       5■
□□□□□□■6■□□□□□□
••••••for••••••
with each tick of
the hand • is a
glimpse into
the uncert-
ain future
• let  slip
the  loo-
se   gra-
ins     of
sand•c-
lose the
tempor-
al  gaps
to bring
you......
much
clos-
er•

I'm poring over your words...
Sophistication beyond compare
I can only savour in gulps
Such fantastic fare

•••••

Your stars are sculpted out of porcelain
Whilst mine, white washed vinyl
Your haloed moon, commands immediate attention
Mine only hovers...
As elliptical paint over stencil

Oceans of yours brim full
Catching the shards from the noon day sun
When mine suffer from receding tides
Turning into stagnant estuaries
where water hardly runs

Myriad views from snow swept mountains
You paint perfect with delicate pairings
Stuck with a view from a porthole
Sometimes all I see,
are the vast expanses of tumultuous endings

•••••

Still poring over all of your words
They all weigh much
but soar like feathers on birds
Artform fit for gods beyond compare
Drowning in the magic...
Of your incredible fare

Many a notion I'd lay in indelible ink.
How the morning sun would harvest the contours of your face.
Accentuating...
Elevating...
Revealing...
Your majestic beauty.
Reminiscent of a different time and place.

Many a thought I'd pen in indelible ink.
When your breath meets with mine,
they'd hold their own conversation.
Deeply entranced,
In an everlasting dance
that would last forever.
Exchanging gaits of grandeur,
great longing and pine.

Many an inkling I'd etch in indelible ink.
The way my moon never gets eaten.
It'll balloon to its fullest...
Beaming it's brightest.
Seeping from its edges,
gushes forming rivers...
Bathing my earth in heavenly silver.
Calming the thundering hooves...
In my heart with rhyme and reason.

There are but three words...
Words so sacred I dare not utter in vain.
Proclamation so heavy my chest could hardly
hold in rein.

I've immortalised them here...
But in *invisible ink...

Because no one would understand...
Of emotions so grand.
No one would have a clue...
That...

.
Adrift...                    
Time has no hold over these
currents that carry me.
Coursing over this seemingly
endless journey.
Caressed and nudged
by an invisible hand...
Perhaps my grave awaits below...
Where light is swallowed
and is too afraid to show.
The desolate demeanor
of the submerged tombless land.

Adrift...                    
Blind to what lays in store...
Oblivious to...
The faint whispers of a distant shore.
The mythical horizon is but a dream,
worthy only to the steadfast
and the resilient.
Not to those who'd fray at the seams.

Adrift...                    
Ripples amass and finally cresting.
Wake up... Waves are breaking.
The sand beckons bearing open arms
to home and sanctuary.
I glance back to
the calm of the watery plain.
My feet aren't ready to be received by
the grit and grain.
I'd like to linger here...
In the water, with the shore so near.
For I've longed and travelled far...
but
I'm still not yet ready...
.

Lend me your eyes.
So I could fill them
with the bursting stars.
Telling tales of the spellbinding universe,
singing songs of exploding suns...
and of splintering quasars.

Lend me your thoughts.
So that if I may,
write of them.
Fantastical scribbles of love
and praise.
Meticulously lined
and carefully stitched...
with immaculate lace at the hems.

Lend me your breaths.
I'd catch them as they fall...
between the words you would say.
Merging mine with yours...
introducing colour...
and vigour
to my monochromatic world of
black, white and grey.

Lend me your heartbeats...
for mine thumps erratic.
As if beating in silent mock.
I depend on the steadiness in yours.
So they could usurp
the ticks of worldly clocks.

Lend me your hands.
Palms up as a sign,
perhaps as an invitation...
for me to take them.
And maybe...
hopefully fill them...
with mine...