Anxious sweat is chocking me
it's her birthday you see
to carry something so light and
yet feel like concrete
a bouquet of daisies, pretty, must be held right as it might make the difference or risk dropping, eaten by things around my feet and
grasshoppers grab as tasty treats.

the safety to feel at home is inside a loved one's stare
and to be the joker is a price gladly paid to see laughter
in kaleidoscope eyes, mesmerised
to smell the fresh laundry on you.

I would struggle to ask for more of all things
bound in our shared nocturnal time.
My chest is open, but I am too easy to persuade
with questions that snap me back from your gaze.

let's not be realists my love
and accept this sentiment where we can both be lost in thoughts of each other.

your eyes change from life giving trinkets
to shades of underwater
my heart snaps violins
until you utter one word
no longer staring at xanthic shades on a dress,

yes..

happy birthday Love, let's cut the cake and count our years from zero

Sometimes I feel like we are dams
not dammed, but rivers of emotion held back by concrete
to release feelings in controlled manners to maintain
life that has felt lost.

Breaks and cracks do happen where tender hands can fix
but the storms of many have come and I will overflow.

what scares me is the damage I will do and
whoever has not left will have eyes turned for an answer

to find wreckage, waste and whispers of sorrow
if I had a purpose, I think I might have failed.

I would warn you this will happen but goodbyes  b r e a k
                                                                ­                              p i e c e s
    walk on my shoulders once more so I can                         o f
               remember your warmth when water and ice take       m e .

I met a master of words

could spin you a tale out of spoons and feathers
leaving cotton in the mouth, dry to the tongue
and thirsty for more...

told me

a tree will break concrete if given enough time
and so to
the moulds that hold us locked
in a single crippling thought.

perhaps those words were wrong
and time is not a key to releasing
blistered shackles.

but having purpose can turn
the fallen into limping  to striding to flying

all made worthwhile when not alone.

when the wind whispers soft touches on leaves... I am there....

when the sun seems a little too hot and there is cool shade to rest in ... I am there....

when a man falls over and you laugh unexpectedly ... I am there... pushing that man over....