The way you play your harp,
effortlessly weaving your fingers
through those nylon strings
is oh so captivating.

The firm hold you have on your instrument,
secure, yet light enough,
being careful not to break
the mahogany frames.

The heedful ears you have,
used to listen to the echoing sounds,
your harp makes in response to
even the slightest flick of your finger.

The beautifully composed melody,
brought forth by the
dissonance and resolution
of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever known.

Wherever did you get the practice?
*Perhaps it was from toying with my heart.

Like a siren; alluring.
Like a campfire; warming.
Like an addiction; captivating.
Like the sun; lustrous.
She was all of these things upon sight.

Like a good book; intriguing.
Like an idea; different.
Like the breeze; refreshing.
Like inspiration; reassuring.
She was all of these things upon conversation.

Like a dream; distant.
Like music; intangible.
Like an illusion; comforting.
Like the moon; unobtainable.
She was all of these things upon waking.

Like all of these things; Her.

Three years ago, standing in the garden of life, a butterfly landed perfectly in my hands. It flew from above and behind me, gracefully hovering itself down as if it were landing on a surface that might be unstable for its fragile little legs.

Slowly descending closer to my hands, I felt its feet graze the surface of my skin like it was testing out the waters of my spirit.

Fluttering over my hands, it kept its wings at metronome-like tempo, and my heart began to follow the same rhythm. It was almost like seeing a butterfly for the first time in my life.

Although I knew there were other ones out there, I admired everything about this butterfly like it was the only one in the world that mattered.

I couldn’t speak butterfly at the time, but I immediately relaxed my hands to show I was not something to fear. She trusted me and settled herself right in the middle of my openly cupped palms.

She was beautiful, from the scars on her wings to the subtle shades of brown that streaked down the tattered edges of them. All the markings on her were like a canvas, showing me the stories that now explained why she was uneasy about landing on me so quick.

I wanted nothing more than to take away the pain that she suffered and nurse her back to the amazing colors I saw beyond the scars of her wings. It might of been the way she looked at me with those eyes, or maybe it was the way I felt when she walked on my skin as if she were inside of it. I definitely knew one thing though, I would do anything for her.

I planted the best roses and lilies in my garden, always giving her a reason to come back. She craved to breathe in the aura of my being like it was purer than the pollen of a red rose.

Anytime she landed on me now, there was never hesitation. She pollinated me with all the ideas she took from the flowers she’s journeyed on throughout life. We mutually connected, almost as if she had been living in my garden all my life.

Her addiction to me had attracted my attention like no other, and I fell in love with the way we grew. I felt my cupped hands close a little more while I held her now.

Her scars started to fade with time, and just like I thought, the colors that existed beneath them were captivating. She flew around my garden and spread the wings, that had once been torn, with the confidence of a bird that committed itself to soar the skies beyond. I was happy to know that I had helped push this butterfly back into the world, but I also felt my cupped hands close a little more while I held her now.

Every time she was gone and growing, I waited so eagerly for her return to see the new stories her wings told. They grew even stronger then from how I had once seen them before, and flourished with vibrant colors. It was amazing; I was completely infatuated with watching her grow. I felt my hands close a little tighter while I held her now.

She was mine. I had never felt so good about myself before and maybe I began to take her for granted. I stopped planting flowers in my garden and neglected to water the ones that always brought her back. My garden dried up, and the sight of it didn’t even make me flinch. I was too enveloped in watching a pretty sight like her fly around.

There were no more plants growing anymore, no more new seeds planted or new flowers to explore. It was all dead. Al I cared about was her story, her presence and her legacy. She was all I had.

There was little for her to delight in anymore, but I guess I didn’t notice.  Her wings fluttered sadly, and I felt my hands close a little more while I held her, now completely cutting her off from spreading her wings.

She didn’t feel free any more. Instead of nurturing the garden we used to love exploring together, I made my hands a prison to keep her from flying away from me. The thought that she would prefer another hand or another garden ate at me. I wanted her all to myself. By the time I realized I was wrong, she had flown away for good.

I have been working on my garden ever since. If she ever returns, she’ll be pleased to see it’s the best it’s ever been.

She was like a humming bird:
soft, light fleeting-
the perfect escape artist.
Speaking in riddles
that keep you up at night.

Face changer and witch,
she draws you close, holds you so
and then lets go without warning.
You can only get so close,
before she turns her back.
Every time a bit closer,
every time more sting
from the rubber-band of goodbye.

Sinking down further into her sea
she washes over you,
drowning you in the intoxication
of her salt.
She melts in your mouth,
Pixie Stix style;
sweet, but gone
before you can really enjoy the taste.

You press rewind
on your memory:
looking, searching for any glimmer
of her, any flash,
anything to keep her close;
even for only a moment longer.

She wears a mask:
masquerade half-faced,
with feathers and glitter,
ribbons hanging from the left.
She's perfected
this porcelain-painted facade.
Under the disguise
she defies the conception
of beauty.
Thinking her virtue lies
in the mask.
She lies in the mask.

She fades in and out
like the morning fog
over the ocean.
Rushing in
and falling away
once the sun rays hit the water.
The crash enfolds her;
she lets it.

Skin and bone she bleeds
for everyone who ever hurt her,
taking the blade to the skin
she lets them all win.
Playing a loser's hand,
all chips in,
she gives herself over
as payment for who she is.

***** and unworthy;
painfully aware of
her chemical circumstance,
she runs from the torment.
Into a forest of lost time
remaining hidden,
she tries to die
but ever-still;
she remains.

Something simple, something sweet...
Something magical, my souls favorite treat.
The calm before the storm. A captivating blur,
Of feelings no bystander could infer.
A magical intensity of silent poetry.
Bittersweet bliss manifesting inside of me.
Spontaneity whipping through the air.
All sense of reality halts in the company we share.
Clouds of the past dissipate,
With each ray of sunshine you create.
A roller-coaster ride lacking a safety belt,
Surpassing any type of affection ever felt.
Like riding a wave, yet a board would serve no purpose...
If you have me constantly floating above the surface.
Reality holds no depiction to genuinely describe,
The notion of comprehending all that is inside.
Foraging for a taste of your soul, my eyes are met with a blue abyss.
Shaded ripples of Nirvana, too precious to resist.
Drifting towards the center, a black hole draws me in.
Here I realize I had found my key to explore within.
A whirlwind of beauty emerging from every angle.
So engulfed in the chemistry, I am now comfortably tangled.
Smacked with a supercharged rush leaving me numb, frozen with awe.
Eventually revived, your lips casually departing mine...the first thing I saw.