flower of passion
petals like moist lips in rain
spring bids good morning.

He kissed
my flower


























































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tattoo.









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*you naughty minds - smirks

tell me, what is the sound of a dying flower in my hands –
as it detaches from the bunch of blossoms and leaves?
the postman missed the message for me, that says,
“I’m heaven sent,”as I pictured myself a better man by
now - the mind draws, whatever aroma of heaven it dreams
of, and carries that detached scent

tell me there, Mr postman – did you grow a rose in your
pocket where I grew a small tree in my heart’s garden,
where falling leaves can be heard. if I could use words filled
with fire, I’d be a bonfire of poems burning at my creative
compost. post me on the wall of your memories, as a painting
of those falling leaves

as a darling would tell me I’m too worried about being
a leafless branch – hey there Mr postman, I finally have
the answer

the sound of crushed water from life, is just the sound
of its final tears – and I’ve heard the tears of that flower,
but it was really me crying about my own self - still being
more fragile.

It’s a subtle shift, yet it holds great power,
Turning a seed of thought into a blooming flower.
Change the lens through which you view,
And watch life take on a hue anew.

Denuded;

denuded was my soul,

with all that there was to it.

Everything that I touch;

withers without falter—

every time I water these

withered flowers.

Sending me tender kisses like airbags, softening the blows to my
heart; your service with a smile radiates warmth as I stand in line,
eager to sketch the portrait of our love— chasing after sparks, once
your heart starts to believe you’ve found the one.

Making daylight savings – to awaken with the sun, its golden rays
dance upon your cheek, radiating warmth that yearns to envelop me.
Yet, I ponder— will a touch more of this brilliance consume me, or
shall I remain alert– do I stay woke,

or…

spend most of the day in a daydream, cherishing this infatuation,
cradling it close to my heart, preserving our moments for a future
where courage blooms within me, allowing me to finally ask you to
be my wife.

“Perhaps yes, or maybe not” – I’ve pluck the petals of my choices,
now lingering on the tenth flower.

                                             I think I'm in love with you Daisy.