jaaneman, do you think of me like i think of you?
do you believe in me as i believe in you?
i dont know if its me,
or my pessimistic outlook that is keeping us apart.
but, i need you like the stars need the moon.

sitting here on this day of inamorata,
wishing we could be together..
but dear, i know you've got somewhere else to be.
i know your heart is already full,
with no room left for me.

though, i'm never giving up on us.
i will fight for you.
i will fight until your heart is empty,
empty and shallow.
i will fight for you until the day that you realize,
i am the only one that will ever fight for you..

when your lover betrays you & leaves you out in the cold..
allow my being to be a form of warmth.
all i want is the taste that your lips allow,
i want to be your reasons why
& your reasons how.

this is my promise to you..
to never hurt you, never betray you dear i will never let you go.
here's to the day that i can finally call you mine, the day of *euphoria.

noun

1. the scent of after-rain and earthy vanilla saturate the pages of the time-worn books piled around me like my very own wizard tower. multiloquent magician that i am, weaving words with merely my will and a quill, i cannot help but think that the smell itself is its own kind of strange and wonderful magic.

2. the sound of faint bass through headphones hanging from around my neck twines through the counter-melody looping in my head and is like my own background music. life is a movie-set and in every recording there is a harmonious strain picked up by the mikes with no discernible source. i am my own hero in this one.

3. the taste of mint on the tip of my tongue as i inhale the perfume of my garden reminds me of tree-shadows under noon-day sun, or creeks trickling through boulder fields. sparrows nestle on my collar bones, tickling my throat and filling my mouth with the summer-dust flavor of feathers.

4. the sight of a sweet shop or a library or a craft market or a street busker sends an effervescent thrill across my shoulders, seeing the pieces of the puzzle that makes up my art, on display for the world.

5. the feel of a pen in my hand is akin to being touched by the divine, with the power of pure creation at my fingertips. a world of my own making unrolls before me. it is an ever-evolving, stirring, dynamic creature of ink that is singing singing singing to my soul.

h.f.m.

Netptunes unwritten love;
yearning and tearing for her, Selene.
oh, she's shades a lady to revel in,
her forever ending;rebirth.

he tries to combust a means to reach rare
longingly gazes,
but retracts, a trapped magnet.

jaaneman is whispered, and she breaths life to the wind; but a ghost to the sea.


© 2015 Kate Volk