This night is cool.
Stark change from the heat of day.
The wind blowing hard.
Left and right.
Undecided like me.
Breeze soothing and calm.
I've let go, the noise of it all.
Trees thrashing with life.
Wind is soundless.
But through the trees it wisps.
Grass around my ankles.
Wind turned attention seekers.
They tickle furiously with motive.
Dispel all thought, motives and intent.
Leave it all behind and focus on myself.
The mosquito's have been kind.
Tonight they turned a blind eye.
Just this night the world has wanted me to see.
I'm connected to this earth and it won't let me displace.
Reminding me I've not gone.
Somewhere I was not meant.
This world is a strange place.
We're all only a little bent.

I've been writing.
I rarely ever stop.
These words are feelings that I had forgot.
Like ideas not recorded.
These poems I'll not be rewarded.

Thoughts of pain
Love and lust.
Take little comfort in me.
As I do not trust.

Myself I'm selfish.
Like you or the next.
Bleed out like this.
That will be the test.

I've gone round and round.
Felt the ups the downs.
But never guilty you've been found.

Take me a way from this.
Take me far into the abyss.
Where no mortal walks.
No demon flies.
We'll stay forever and attest the tides.

I'm lying there in your arms.
Wrapped and tightly entwined.
Your soul reaching out to me.
Through those eyes they glimer.
In this light I've found beauty.
So perfect blue and green.
Mesmerized draw me in close.
We're in a bubble.
The sound of rain it's beautiful.
It intensifies now deadening.
A dead silence only rain.
Your open mouth.
Your lips move but that's all.
You say "I love you".
You meant it but you've meant it before.
Will this be the last time.
This must be love.
Nothing else exists.
This must be love.
In our bubble.

The silence broke
Shattering into a million pieces
Shards and dust...

there you were, lying right next to me. our bodies entangled with each other, fingers intertwined, legs wrapped around each other - it was almost as if our souls were about to become one. i lie awake, staring right next to me where you were - perfection, yes perfection, perfection is all i see right now. your tired eyes gently shut, eyelashes that looked like a butterfly's fragile wing, the bridge of your nose constructed so perfectly, your cheeks that were tinted pink, i wanted to run my fingers through all the edges of your faces, just to make sure that you were real and this is not another one of those daydreams i've been having for so long now, that this is really happening, that you, my dreams, yes, you are my dreams, that this is reality. "what did i do to get myself so lucky?" i wondered. there you were, such a divine creation of god, accompanied by a wonderful melody that consisted of the rise and sighs of your breath, a melody that made me feel blessed for you, my love, existed. before this, i was in love with the idea of you. the thought of you that kept running through my mind whether i was alone or not, i was so in love and infatuated by you, just by you existing in my mind. it was hard to believe that something as simple as your existence can make me so happy. i had no control over how you were multiplying the butterflies that were now flying viciously inside of me, how you make my veins pump with adrenaline, how you make my heart play a mean bass drum whenever you're around. home was now your arms, and my heart was now yours, but the best part was that you were mine, now and what feels like forever. there you were, lying right next to me, gently inhaling and exhaling. i can't help but plant a kiss on your pink tinted cheeks and bury my face in your chest, and under my breath i say, "oh god, i'm so in love with you."

In a descriptive,
You're words within a page that bring stories to life.
With one word and touch you bring the dimmed back to light.

In a fiction,
A walk on water means you could float through riptides like being seen as a movie clip shown worldwide.

In a fairytale,
Dragons come to burn our village, but what is ever to come will surely visage.
Thinking fringe will stop the dead from dieing, because you have a power to keep trying.

In a sense of nonfiction,
You do not fear of the afflicted.
You do not fight for the wicked.
I sometimes will feel that my mind is purged, but you bring harmonious understanding to my mind once disturbed.

As a story,
You are your own.
For not all can read your mind, skin, and bones.
I'm already reading a piece that is glory.
That lot of big/little I call your story.

When you walk into this room it's always like a little tornado hit it. You could find a mix of things lying around at any time - books, outer ware [hats, sweaters, the like], at least one journal and a pen or two on the floor, in addition to the collection of writing instruments on the unused children's desk. But above all, there will always be at least one instrument out of its case  a guitar, ukulele, penny whistle, always within reach, though rarely played. Comfort objects. This is still a child's room though the occupant is  no child [just look in the drawers, behind the bed, under books, secret places to discover more Adult things.] The walls are a light green [her mother had picked this color though the kid had wanted blue] and really, the only reason the occupant can handle living in this room semi-permanently is because of the art, poetry and books everywhere.

Dewey and Brisk…
Sweet nothingness-
Vast and real
You entice me.
Once life surrounds
A soul-
And starts to sing
A sweet melody,
The one of dawn.
Under violet light,
Restless and sleepless-
Signs of renewal.