That one petal fortitude
blasts through with try;
the grey sea moment
now full of sky.

Perfect prowling Poppet,
with the lives of nine;
I'm so glad that one of them
is being spent with mine.

So I wake up & think,
"Ohh, a message on Whatsapp,
I'll check that baby later,
for that nourish I will cater,
hmm outside it looks mild,
take your time Si, punctuality is the last reserve of the boring, said Oscar Wilde.
But you don't want to get the "where have you been" glare & the "I've been sat here for ages" stare."
So I gather my sleepy head with all my power,
get my work game on & hit the shower.
As I cleanse my skin layer by layer I ponder,
"hmm, have I got enough juice in my MP3 player to see me through on the 192?"
I scrub quickly in a ******* sigh,
"oh oh oh fuckkkkk! Si, you've got shower gel in your eye!"
All my thoughts of enough walking music to hurl me up the road are lost in my optic feeling like it's going to explode.
"It hurts! It hurts! ******* vanilla & raspberry,
is the cyclopitic pain really necessary?".
I now don't have time for thoughts of on time hurry
if I'm going blind or not is now my greatest worry.
The stupid anxieties vanish
in minutes of strife,
like they do in real life,
I don't think I'll care that I haven't budgeted for pre payday weekend beer if I get a call saying
you're not here,
& from what I know you disappear.
Not to dwell on what grief does loom,
you & me right now sail through the future gloom;
you're the best of the best
never stop,
I love you
I love you
I love you lots.
This soapy grip on my eye starts to ease,
anxious not
in the July breeze.

In the house
where fought was known as nothing
i'll gallop up the stairs with a bounding born
of what
you gave
to me;
super strides
and
a
chance
to see.

Your scintillating self
appears true
to me now;
I tilt my head and you're there
being brilliant,
with a ease
all your own.

If ever there is a time you think you're not brilliant
think on
for a while;
everybody loves you
and
your smile.

I might not see you tonight,
things can come up
and if they do, that’s fine
there are other sweet ways for me to spend my time;
I could read a book and then watch television,
catch up on my shows with concise precision,
make a lavish meal and then chow down at leisure,
put some music on and dance with pleasure,
have a long shower and then go for a walk,
meet friends and hear them talk;
these are just a few of the other things I could do tonight,
but if I see you?
Oh what a delight!

The clock always
moves slower
when you arrival is nigh,
it's as if time conspires
to delay our high;
but for the dwell on your appear there isn't room:
you'll be here instantly,
sometime,
soon.

Don't migrate yet,
you'll miss summer's going
goodbye;
but your wings do look beautiful,
in fade,
in sky.

With you
silly fog
is easy to move through,
you clear what's missed;
my call to arms,
you call my arms
and put me together,
in any storm
in any weather.

The essences of amazing
are etched on your face
before beautifying
but please,
if you want,
make up away
until lips touched
with colourful sticks shine
a allure with less
and more.

You are passing, this is it,
the last of it.
Minutes you filled
in nights drawn in,
we're in.
You're fantastic,
near past it.

For a time you made me sparkle,
i'm the star on top,
no needles to think of.
Soon we will pack up
and drop off.
When we were we went
everywhere
without care.
Now unfair,
no lights
anywhere.

The word on the street is
you're gone,
as seen morning breath will attest.
But in these columns of sunshine
this summer here appears,
and butterfly wings
still have time
to do their things.

Obviously
you lit a fire in me.
Not the kind that requires
frantic calling
when out of control
and at the least decimating
in strong wind,
or turning cinders
when ignored,
spitting threats of consume
to all
with every rose,
no, not those.
This is contained,
filling my space
with the heat
of you;
obviously,
you lit a fire in me.



.

You're practically a mantra now,
sans repetition
held soft
in a good dream;
I forget your name
in the bloom of now.

Itchy
but this won’t always happen,
it’s just your time right now,
in a few months you’ll be gone,
no tiny fangs in the cold,
small gnashing lost to season;
as it is you bite
in summer’s sunlight.

I want your fright things to be as short as the day of winter solstice,
I want to find you
in mist,
and kiss,
so you know you're missed.

Some emotions
I try
to have no time for;
jealousy just a useless worry,
run away from me with anger;
self pity in the dustbin
with regret
and has been:
but the looking forward to seeing you is naturally undimmed;
all your you and everything, your wow,
clear
in the now.

You:
with every movement
the world you're mending;
as confident as a fairytale
with a happy ending.

Step upon this ground
make it more than it is.
It trembles as you tread,
happy to hold you,
as air is happy to hold you
how long you stay
or say,
now
and
today.

Sitting in the field of us
I forget what the concept of unfurrowed will allow;
as it's just me and youy
in the now now now.

As you walk over
what you have done
and where you have been
presents
itself,
in instant glory.
Oh all the places you have roamed,
all the houses you've made your home;
good old Twist
may we always greet,
every time
I see this street.

Around you
defences drop,
ramparts rescind,
blocks become silly things;
you open with smile the fleck of tut,
move all to joy
and end the shut.

Pristine,
every trace gone,
to start clean.
As we did.
Spaces into habitat,
safe, warm
and scared,
shared in here.
A dot on a circle
in walls the age of trees.

It seems these days, in this now,
the bright side isn't a unfathomable place, it's just right there, close enough not to reach for,
more settled,
gently,
part of that lack of grasp is because of you;
you create a happy easily,
with all you are
and all you be.

Near you
is being sat under butterfly blue skies;
a world resplendent with confident soaring,
not seeming
to flutter by.

A path seemed bumpy
now knows no slight deviation;
smooth as the groove the run to your station.

Possibilities change
to what is
near you,
any reaching
suddenly gone
to constant wonder.
Hypothesis discarded
until tomorrow,
or longer;
as it's you, right now.

How like you to
offer something
when someone
is in strife,
giving all the happy
when the unknown is in life,
how like you to do that,
how like you to be there,
how like you to be wonderful,
how like you to be care,
how like to be magnificent,
how like you to be strong,
how like you to suggest something called belong.

You talk
in reminders
of spring,
through branches
that have never heard of you,
or seen the colour green.
Running in empty,
the bright in store,
what you'll all be;
a supreme full together,
good for each other.

Once,
you were away from me
and days to count;
to strive ,
to arrive.
Once
it all changes,
as next to you
always
changes.

Don't let
season skipping signs that say
it's autumn
deter your warm from being here,
you always very welcome
what's left
of the summer
of this year.

There's something about you
that is mega lovely,
and,
super splendid cuddly;
many many adjectives
they do
in my head
land,
when we walk
hand
in hand.

Blatantly
you say,
with typical
forthright
knowing
wonder,
I love you,
& I,
trying to gather my thoughts
say,
without the weight of thinking;
I love you too,
when I wanted summer
you made my sky blue.

I love you.
Today has been magnificent,
we saw the span of us:
the differences, trials
and
tribulations
but also the love that led to standing at rainy train stations,
waiting to be carried into arms
that with their touch
allow our world to become one present moment of comforting joy,
where all is right,
and
full of bright.
I love you.

You
sleek
with
advancement,
turning battles benign;
all fronts blue and sun:
special is your name.

You can pop in a lot
of months,
before
you're here
or after
you've gone,
like a sunny sky day in April
or
a leaf full floor autumn one,
but when you are wide and bright,
on the cusp of schools breaking up
and July imminent,
your shine
is not
a hint or a trace;
it's all of your blue
right up to space.

Your concerns are global
with endless scope,
through sleet and sound i hear that
under a touch of your eye
we arrive
into a moment,
with hides shed
for wings ;
these things you bring.

Saturday morning becomes
simple
with you
by my side,
magnifying the open
with nothing to hide;
you're the bestest surprise,
with the summer in your eyes.

You seem like you'll always
be
your beautiful head,
all brilliant full
but never led;
knowing steps in deep
winter snow,
and when to wait
in summertime glow;
no-one could ever deem you foe
as the destination is wonder
wherever you go.

The phrase time is a healer is tinged with sadness, as it accepts the end,
every moving on comes from the end of a beginning that was fortified by hope.  
Time is a healer because shared experiences cease, which condemns any perceived future to the past,
love cannot continue when the space is no longer occupied by two,
those experiences shared become less vivid,
less real,
relics of a history that gather dust with each passing second,
dusk falling on laughter, forever captured and frozen, other people, from another time.

Blatantly
you say,
with typical
forthright
knowing
wonder,
I love you,
& I,
trying to gather my thoughts
say,
without the weight of thinking
I love you too;
when I want summer
you make my sky blue.

All the begin of winter cold
feels less
by your side,
your warmth knows not tundra tide;
building a space to weather what outside may bring;
fantastic zoom
our super sing.

I miss you,
you don't
exist,
anymore:
street signs disappear,
the road smooth,
and
bump less,
and then nothing.

Leaves stay on trees
throughout every season,
and forms
and rules
meld
into
one crying pattern
of loss:
please come back,
I miss you.

Words I associate with you
jump quickly
off the page,
a collection of letters
making soar my days.

Just one more time come around sun
and bring the warm easy
like you always do,
your rescinding shine
has in it all of you;
being the days you were.

Things start in different ways,
sometimes soft and faint
hardly rippling
still
but
gentle
with glorious intent.
Or, instantly sudden,
sodden in anew,
caught in the unstoppable
thrall
of quickening season,
fast and swift
with love the reason.

I remember us sat looking at Manga cartoons like it was yesterday. But now?
She's gone away.
And I'm just a ghost
in a shell.

When I watch Akira I still hear her.

And,

the fading sound,

of
our era.

An old tree
once adored in majestic decoration
watches
a cat get fat
from a wet garden.
It feeds at different houses
but no longer a home,
shying from strokes,
used to the cold
and
forgetting love.
Barer branches see
a sudden migration
in winter years
leave a street emptier;
no more advice on hanging washing,
papers passed on or prescriptions dropped off.
A time in season
lost.