Why do my eyes waver in salt water?
It's just a concept I don't really understand when
The ocean in my mind is dry but
My eyes? So wet.
And yet, fire roars through an ***** named Passion - and the sand beneath my feet burns their soles and tries to
Penetrate my soul
But I have buckets,
Tucked under two lids,
That can spill with or without my will.
They can put out a flame, both good and bad. A blessing and a curse.
I'm told that fish can't climb trees but I have neither arms nor gills you see
I have been immobilised,
And it's down to a monochrome smear on a canvas with so much potential;
A plethora of 'dos' and 'don'ts';
The slaughter of a lamb.
I would like to stand in solidarity with each martyr of idiosyncrasy.
I wonder if anything we ever do will be enough.

I remember those fears,
During those years,
Making coffee for your cup,
My belly so tense and tight,
Crying hours before you got up,
I knew what was coming even if
I did get it right,
The taste of blood from my nose,
It was too hot or too cold,
The bruising on my cheek,
It was too strong or too weak,
Or maybe not sweet enough
to suit your taste,
Burns when you threw it on my skin,
Years of coffee made joy a waste,

Now making coffee causes me to grin, This time the man on the receiving end,

Says it's perfect everytime with a big Ole grin.