there I was
a mere dust mote of humanity
                                      in this place
this spiritual monument to life
                                          to history
mindful of the way
                  it wrapped its snug
                        but silken gloves
around the hands of my perception


your smile was a tease of affection
  as you enquired how I could
                amidst all this wonder
  wax lyrical about a curve of railing

how it felt to the touch
        a spiritual experience
                            where souls soar
among the grandeur
                  of a twinkling night sky

soothing reflections of deepest blue


it ignited senses
I marvelled the way  
  countless artists/architects
                                      brushed
the bare skin of nature  
                              against my own

how it united us
        gave birth to concepts
                      I had yet to encounter
how it reminded me
                        time after time
                that we are all connected


you mocked me for that concept too
almost as much as I mock myself
what a enormous statement to make


yet as countless moons
                    have waxed and waned  
I have learnt that connection
                    between all living things
does not mean we love
                everyone and everything
      it simply dwells amongst us

an unspoken language
      spanning generations
                    of human experience
            
not always by mutual agreement
                                but in moments
where the heart does not need
              to harbour love or fondness

      it merely knowingly- exists

I don’t know if it’s just the bitter cold
or the failure of the liquor to warm my soul,
but there’s frostbite on my lungs and an emptiness deep inside me.
“The future is bright” oh what a lie,
spending every night with my only company; the sky,
the stars lose the fight and even fade when the sun rises high,
and it does so spitefully.

I’ve got unlimited time,
claiming invincibility as a crime.
I’ve got an endless list in rhyme,
but I have no conclusion.

Tell me Scout, is this a joke you were planning?
Boo Radley’s tree is not for hanging.
Gritted teeth and fists are banging.

I’ve got unlimited time,
but no energy left for the climb.
I’ve got never ending points to chime,
but it’s all an illusion.

Tell me Scout, is this a joke I’m not understanding?
Boo Radley’s tree is not for hanging.
Dodging punches and slurs they’ve all been slanging.

I evaluated the situation up and down, left and right,
and I still don’t think it’s accurate of that night,
‘cause the level was too hard when I meant to choose beginner.
I tried to hold your interest with all my might,
but I noticed your eyes drastically dim in light,
the screen flashed “game over” before we were even done dinner.

My head is a snow globe recently shaken
A flurry of thoughts that would best be forsaken
My mouth is an envelope sealed tightly shut
Attempting to hold back butterflies from my gut
But utter my feelings I must finally do
And when laid out bare, my thoughts are of you
Your smile, your laugh, the way that you move
Your soul etched in matter, like a record’s vinyl groove
My whole sketch is splattered with emotion and sparks
But the painting in my mind’s eye comes straight from the heart
And as soon as my lips finally do part
Your name will be the ending, the middle, and the start

When you meet a writer

communicate with a writer

pay attention to a writer

You become a writer's muse

he/she doesn't give you up

he/she falls in love with you

You become a writer's work of art

there is no flaw seen

there is no passion taken

You become a writer's diary

no secrets told

no judgements

When you meet a writer

boundaries are there

trust is rare

You become a writer's muse

when you have patience

when you have a connection