I see you in slow motion. I can see spring light breaking through the ***** windows straight on to your brooding face. Your concerned eyes are wide and have never looked so beautiful. They remind me of those emeralds you found so long ago. You gracefully fall down that old stair case. Your tiny frame starts to tumble as though you were a part of a dance. The smell of unpolished wood is pungent. I see you recognise your last moment. We both knew it was going to be like this.
He is not in the frame.

I'm not going to pretend to myself i do not feel unsettled in this space of tender silence.

I have learned to somehow forge in myself an arbitrary understanding that I am part of a choice and I have chosen it. I do not object or struggle with knowing I am both everything and nothing. I speak in whispers and conveniently sit at a distance but my curiosity is certain.
I am not subtle.
Of course I have pondered if whether I feel like this is because I am not yet ready to feel the fruits of existence. It seems to have come into sight that I have lost the ability to prepare myself but how when I believe in the notion there are no such thing as surprises.
I still look back on my shadows of arrival and departure and challenge them like any human should.
I am guilty of closing my eyes on many wonders. I instead find my head thinking thoughts mostly full of peculiar shades of grey. Out of fear of being moonstruck I inhabit a duty to be submissive towards the semblance of imperfections that I am.

To my dismay my palate has acquired a taste for those who seem to have the heart of a lion. I detect my tenacious affections towards you early. This is daunting for us both. We do not share the same list of apprehensions. I suppose it is your fortitude and influence that sustains my interest so.

I know the heart of a lion is a delicacy that i can not stomach I must have a courageous allure to feel starved. I observe without scrutiny while i wait in line for you.

It wont be long until I will find myself effortlessly making an apology on your behalf.

Your precarious, impregnable ways will be exacerbating. My harmless devotion will alarm you, in turn you will deny my intentions.



I will try and swallow your heart whole in an attempt to feel you. I will expect nothing less than to be left praying to the porcelain god. I would have forgotten about your parsimonious generosity. Your charm is passionate but I will still call you up on your weaknesses in the mighty shape of a lioness. You will feel wounded and indulge in the pleasures of your mothers nectar to soothe your uneasiness . You do what you have to do, do it, do it.

My response to you has always been focused.

This has gladly not been over looked by you.

I have become thoughtlessly biddable and amenable for you, especially in the morning light.

I am consenting, compelled yet not obliged ..........



You have discovered I am nothing but a girl from a circus.

I never tried to hide it. You weren't looking before.

Although I am a fan of amusements, fetes and even frolics, I do refrain from favoring all tricks.

My indulgence in foolery is a sport I plan to employ for a while yet.

Do I care for you to join me and see if I can defy your desire for extracurricular activities, as well as being your carer?

Is this a task a clown would pretend was a harmless challenge.

Perhaps not, perhaps so.



My roots are raw and loyal to the art of play.

I need you to know this and hold it.

A Spanish fly will not be able to satisfy my ears alone?

Sincerity can be a sharp business sometimes.



Obedience to attachment brings around a credulous familiarity thus a dependency

It could easily keep me awake to stare at many moons

It hasn't.



You have seen me stumble and look at you gingerly more than once now

You are not even delicate but you can be shrewd even when you struggle with expectation.



There is a soberness about your beauty I find pleasingly magnetic.

When you leave me alone without your mighty graze

I without question appreciate and yearn for your persuasions and rough tenderness.

Your actions maybe more savory in the afternoons

compared with your visits to my buoyant dreams but you do kindly hold open doors.

I am betwixt and between when you leave me alone in this old shade of yours
All sentiments feel so much quieter whilst on an unspoken voyage.
I have one oar.

I am afraid I must need well formed wings if I am to settle down to such a desire.
To take such a narrow stream against a night sky
leaves me searching inside for any phantom meadow

I push me back through fear I lack the precision

yes I have second guessed my onions
forgive my scrambling please
I am in a pickle trying to master the rule of thumb with a small heart and a rusty light

Am I in fine feather to be both weightless and remain steady?

I promise to hope violently. I do yearn to discover a difference.
I have galloped many moons without any horse.
I have never been carried before.

I am more than fond when you pick me up.
I hardly think of the ground when you do.


I have sewn in the feeling of difficulty I think from some knots I found

But I do believe in our morning light
so lets hold hands with all good intentions and purposes
stand on stones
and travel the fate that has been given to us Venus

please fly a kite with me

You have taken those apparent steps you need
to be more conspicuous it seems

you will not rest your tired feet for long
but place them carefully next to your 'own kind' on the way
with delibrate circumspect and a considered proximity

you will be a clown, a horse and a child while you sculpt your climb

I can only postulate you always belonged over there in a half baked circle with the well heeled .

I suppose your not the only one who longs to be a parading plutocrat

why you want a stamp of approval from the paradise of fools I will never really know

I guess we all like a nod

You are my apple and I have a keen eye

on the top of this castle

where I can see all the kites fly

we climbed this stone with nothing but some

balloons and our fingers

now we eat fruit pies

as though we might never need to do the dishes.

Words are hardly spoken but I have started to draw

you pictures with blonde sands and blue skies

and few little fishes



I can hear you dream even if I am in the kitchen

I do up your buttons because you give me kisses