The fire, the foal, a coming of age
in the light of the darkness
be still.

Faithful, adjourning
take flight in the stars.
Wind gushes.

Away, you fools!
Grasping the straws
of camaraderie.

We light
we sparkle
then fade


Amen.

I am a fool,
Waiting for your return
Every time you leave.
I pretend to ignore you.
Sitting here patiently waiting
For you to come back.
The things said that aren't meant.
The way you turn your back,
The last word before storming out the door.
I am a fool.
Leaving the door unlocked.
Waiting for your return.
I should be happy with pretending.
The breath of fresh air that soon misses your face.
I'll be a fool
I'll be a fool to lock the door.
I'll be a fool to call knowing you'd press ignore.
The things said that aren't meant.
The anticipation that waits for that door to open.
Nowhere to go.
I am a fool, standing by the door.
I've run out of things to do.
Waiting on you to come back.
I'll be a fool to ignore what's in plain sight.
I'll be a fool

Twisted tummy
24 hours to get to you
I cannot chew
or swallow
or drink properly
it is all soggy cardboard
dans ma bouche.

Before I get to you
my heart stammers
a million times a minute
and I cannot
for the life of me
relax one little
bit.

Slow and steady
I attempt to breathe
but my body won’t be fooled
it knows you are nearer
to me.

When does our weekend begin
Time flies in contemplation.
The day ends, quick to start.
Belittling how the nights are not the same.
Caught in thought.
The laughs that start soon as I see you.
Things that occupy time until the next time.
Again becoming a past time.
The season changes in a matter of days.
The weekend still so far.
The human heart a mystery.
Full of affection. Restrained throughout the week.
Fond with anticipation.
To see you, to feel you.
The embrace of like minds melting in the torch of where we dwell most.
The week becoming longer and longer.
When can my heart beat it's fullest.
Running away with every throb.
Taking you further and further away from where we have to come back.
When does our weekend begin.
Holiday included, extended weekend.
Seeing you smile.
The weekend is near

behind a diaphanous curtain of fog
the moon is perched between dark clouds
in anticipation of lovers to entice
stillness surrounds, no breath of a breeze

then rustling leaves, footsteps
tell of passion that can't be confined
young bodies enfold with insatiable desire
moon, contented, discreetly slips behind the clouds