We are electric
     from the first drunken kiss.
Passion's flaring
     on our first night's bliss.

We are steady
     falling asleep in a lover's embrace
Worries dying
     we've found comfort in this place

Power is only an asset if one uses it wisely

you still exist
in the crinkled pages of my notebook.
last autumn i dog-eared the top corners so i would find my way back.
your veins dance with the curves and loops of my
frail
frail
words.
the contours of your dreams lay in the indents of my ballpoint pens.
your fears bleed black and blue.
your voice--the raspy scratching of graphite before bed.
my sentences often sit incomplete because that's how you left--
in the middle
without warning
because you lacked a single transition.
your breath echos at the turn of every page
inhale--look back
exhale--look forward
(i can almost feel your lungs working alongside my own).
your blood runs red as i scribble across the pages--
at times i am in a frenzy, lacking control as my hands skirt along the paper.
other days, i am silent, waiting for my hand to pick up the pen
and bring you to life.

i keep telling myself that
you still exist
in the crinkled pages of my notebook
but
every time i close its covers shut,
i can't seem to find you.

The beach curves and the sea, a scimitar in the sun cleaves through the shingle a sandy path along the shore.

I am awestruck by the goddess of good luck who favoured my happening into this day full of wonder and wandering.