Postmodernists like Rohrschach blots
But painters prefer polka dots,  
But shaking paint just right
So dots stay round and tight
Is like tying needles in knots.

brown • branches
break • white • crystals
into • disappearing • pieces

We don't need the perfect words or metphors
If we truly care for someone;
We don't need them
-Describing
how they feel...
all we need to know
is to see,
if our heart
skips a beat
or two
when they are
- Typing...

Little dots of light
In the endless void
Too far for my reach,
They come and go, leaving me



Alone



Sometimes in groups, sometimes just one
Little dots of hope, little ***** of light
Dancing they go, where? I don’t know
But unlike me, they’re not



Alone



But one time i tried my luck
And jumped towards the dots
Enveloped by light, they dance
Why don’t they flee? Why don’t they run?

They gently caress my soul
Sea of light fills me whole
Because the dots were never fleeing
I just hadn’t come close
And thanks to them, I’m Alone
No More

Drew all the dots till the dawn just to once again find her face dangling over my stupid pad.
Oh god I can never get rid of her can I??

I want to have you tattooed on me. In True size.
Every point copied; Pierced through my dermis and dotted under my skin. Line by line. Your soft curves imaged. The pretty picture you are.
The artist has to capture your look and feel.
Grasp the splendour of your character; without taking it from you whatsoever. You are far to untamable to be pinned down like that; there is a reason butterflies  are being framed and lionesses not.

Suddenly you stood there, and I was ****.
Nobody could forsee that I were yet to see a godess. They are not made as Beautifull as this anymore.
Seldom before and with greater exception after.