My relationship
With her will be like that of
The night sky and stars.

Water fills my lugs till the point where I don't
have space
like a field of lavender flowers
where I'll stay
forever

Lost in the tides of emotion
The silk of smiles carressed his chin
Leaving a soothing sensation
That happiness wasn't a sin

Will tenderness take him over ?
What does he feel, the Man of Lavender ?

Lost in the touch of other eyes
A wooden fear invades his lips
And no matter how hard he tries
Behind his hands, confidence slips

Will certainty take him over ?
What does he need, the Man of Lavender ?

Lost in the cold of people's mind
The freezing words pervade his head
What sort of silence can he find
Between the things he never said ?

Will any warmth take him over ?
What does he see, the Man of Lavender ?

Lost in words thrown way too much
That became stones way too heavy
For his true soul he'll always search
And he'll find it one day maybe

Will the feelings take him over ?
What will he be, the Man of Lavender ?

Memories traveller.
I remember when I was younger and my mother would sneak into my room with a handful of secrets, revealing them to be flowers. Lavender. She said it was to help the sleepless, and that I was. Restless from the monsters under my bed she’d sing me songs, the scent and tingles she’d sent streaming up my spine were seamless, one melting into the other. She’d tuck me in cozily and I’d noticed the smell of a light purple colour that she’d crushed into my palm, a mortar, her soft fingers the pestle. So when the years went by and our time grew shorter, with the linear layout of these memories would I wrestle as I’d strain to remember what our time together was like before you passed finally one last, lost, dreary November. Then one day, as the rain fell outside our house the bushes it struck were made of lavender and I felt like I had been saved, because once again I’d found you.

You bought the house with lavender
seeded in the front porch.
The scent flutters between the doorsill
and through the letterbox
like bills overdue and invoices outstanding. A postal aroma,
envelope glue smells like flowers to me.

I was never granted the privilege of rearranging flowers
You said, there was more to life than flora,
these emerald, sap dripping, saturated stems
Swelling petals fascinated under my untried eyes,
You said I must not even graze the things.

I longed for a taste of the forbidden flora.
Did buds taste like honey? Were they sour like you told me?
Would they poison these supple
and innocent lips, turn them pink to grey?
Could tastebuds kiss the perennial vines,
the posies, the spray of efflorescence
A taste of simple sweetness -

I remember when you ripped the front-porch-lavender.
The roots could not resist your claws.
You sweat to mutilate strained flowers,
You always work harder. Verdure spoiled.
Ravaged, ruptured, tanked soil.