All at once
It comes so naturally.
Finally, into fruition
A beautiful blossom
Bursting with life.
Springs.
Organically nurtured; cared for with
A profound love,
Unbeknownst.

Falling in love is terrifying.
I do not fear
The heartbreak,
Or your love for me
And mine for you.
I am afraid
Of the epilogue:
The unknown which lurks
Behind the pages of our end.
I am afraid because
I’ve never been so in love
And I have yet to accept
This paradox:
The more we fear the end,
The more we love one another
But the more we love
The more scared we become.
My love,
Choosing to love you is the happiest
And bravest choice I will ever make.

Today I woke up,
and I realized,
that I hadn’t been sleeping,
and was grief paralyzed.

All that had happened,
all the ****** up nightmares,
all the loathing and anguish,
were all laid out and bare.

It took me a second,
to finally find my breath,
and when I did, I screamed,
and simply wished for death.

Take it away,
the agony that I feel,
I cannot bear this,
there’s no way to heal.

There was no answer,
as I lay on the ground.
No yes or no,
absolutely no sound.

I finally thought,
enough is enough.
I’ll fix it myself,
all the things I ****** up.

But before I do,
I’ll fix myself,
because you can’t fix what’s broken,
with something broken itself.

Today I start with me,
and I took a footstep.
One followed another,
even though I still wept.

I never looked back,
so I didn’t see,
what I left behind,
on the ground, was me.

The last time I wrote a poem;
It was my first chance at love.
A boy who gently stole my heart,
With his profound words
And charming personality.

I will not cut too deep,
As that was a heart-rending wound,
Which eventually healed
As time patiently floated by.

Here I am now,
With my second chance at love.
He’s sweet, he’s kind;
He’s the right amount of honey
Added to balance the bitter taste of tea.

All I’m saying is that
There are different kinds of love
A person will journey through;
It might hurt, it might bleed,
It might even make you cry.

However, at the end of the day,
Love is supposed to make you feel warm;
Like the feeling of drinking hot chocolate
On a cold, rainy day;
Or wearing your favorite sweater
As the weather outside is perfectly cool
With a tad bit of warmth.

The picture de la France
roads were walked
lollipops were smiled

The fields of greens and yellow straw
gave ‘selves up to a breeze
that was not a breeze

The abandoned lawns, old military tent
how come they've become
a shelter for the hearts and hand

The painting of such vivid colours
a smell of french cousine
make the memories a lucid dream

The french flair - a mere coulisse
Où nous avons fixé un mur
et nous avons fait l'amour

Maite zaitut

Today, you came home to a package.
It was a box that I  had taped up tight.
Inside you found your worn out high school hoodie.
When you unfolded it, nearly every picture of us fell out like confetti.
And at the bottom of the box, in a thick hemp cloth, you found a framed picture of you
looking miserably in the mirror, back at me.
I was behind you, smiling and deliriously happy.
The picture was in pristine condition.
I wrapped it the way my ancestors would cover a mirror
after a death in the house.
They did this to keep  the spirits from passing to another realm.
I did it knowing we had ended that night and  that you would forever be looking back for me.
You will be miserable and I will be deliriously happy.

The bird songs ring out harmonious
Their calls for some wanton *******,
The best type.
Reciprocated across the landscape
Which is not the right word
There’s more sea here than land.
an orange hangs low in the lonely sky
Perfectly ripe,
Dripping wet with honeyed shades of gold,
Coating palm trees and my knees.
Also my cigarette box and my coffee mug. A slow swell pitching and yawing,  
a side to side appreciated only by those trying to sleep.
A breeze lazier than I licks my cheeks and fondles my thighs.
It’s time, to go.