Fractured pieces of a fairytale lie in front of me.
The broken boy meets the broken girl and they stitch up their pieces while substituting lust instead of love.

We watched the secret gardens bloom and the paths fill with overgrowth that was never tended too.

I love you finally felt underrated & i one this drowning feeling was the emotions I kept hidden for so long trying to surface too quickly.

I stopped believing in fairytales when I was the young age of seventeen. When I watched the prince take his arrows and shoot me in the heart over and over again.
When I realized all the my friends men were nothing but liars and cheats.

I stopped believing in romance at the young age of twenty two. When I gave that prince another chance and he dug the knife deeper in my back than anyone else has ever done. When I started to notice the Icy chill run through my spine in each new bed I would try.

Here I am the ripe age of twenty eight trying to solve the puzzle of lust and love at first site and wondering if there is such thing. Wondering if maybe there is a chance for salvation and happiness somewhere down the overgrown path we haven’t taken.

That maybe, just maybe, that broken boy and that broken girl can hold hands and walk the wild path together.
That maybe, just maybe, we can wander the secret gardens and plant our own seeds of beauty.

But, then again, aren’t we just two lost souls desperately trying to find ourselves in the end?

If we meet ourselves in the gardens of despair what shall we do or say?  

In thy hands I laid my heart, in your embrace I gave my love, in your body I intertwined my own
Thy kiss so sweet like a drop of honey in the meadow of my soul.

Almost done with the waiting, almost kissing your lips once again
Reach in the depths of my being; Claim revenge upon my body and put an end to the thirst that grew in the time we have waited for this moment

Longing for the quickening of my blood, the quivering of my skin; our eyes meeting in whispering  communion

For sweet is the kiss but sour is the aftertaste

A straight line delivers the illusion of control – the delusion manifested order could ever be kept in tow,
                                                                      or manipulated reasoning
                                                              could ever take seed and grow
                                                           against the natural ebb and flow.  
If each our mind a garden, work to see it bloom
full of luscious fruit capable of sweetening even the dankest, darkest glooms.
            Savor that sweet, succulent juice as it drips from your lips and cascades
        down
             your
                  chin
To break from the mold, let go of control. To break from the mold, let go of control.

hoy her
gape is
illuminative with
me and
ripe there
and gibbet
those holes
and worms
yet swallow
the fruit
on the
vine the
passage complete
their fastidious
yard with
mirth entice
the looms

Hosta’s blossoms fade
Mexican Petunia spread
Cleome endures

something in my chest blooms
when you're with me
and i'm with you:
a flower,
a thunderstorm,

a heart, alive.

“I’m writing this somewhere secret, and green, and  beautiful..

Sparkling water and intoxicating seclusion
That I should be drinking in with relief.

But all I can think of is how badly I wish you were here with me to share in this solitude.

We could wander for hours amongst blossoming weeds, and forget what happened that left us bereft”