Just like Paris, it’d be the first place I’d go to
If I were to suddenly fall in love
It has a cupid’s bow, two banks, but no bridges to go through
Because there is no water, neither between them nor above.

It can be found on the South side of the green land
And gets its color from internal rivers running underground
Its surface is softer than the palm of a baby’s hand
With borders that expand each time its owner makes a sound.

Water regularly passes through, right before promptly disappearing
Leaving only behind a few dripping drops, or only a transient sensation of hydration.
There are no monuments ever emerging
But the repetition of apparent ridges begs for contemplation

A succession of narrow valleys and high hills
Shaping a unique pattern worn by a queen
Creating an irrepressible desire to get closer and closer
Until the city cannot be seen
But appears to have been projected on a mirror
Having now a Siamese sister
A sister that I hope would never leave
As this connection would wake in me a fever
The kind that people would want to experience forever.

life, for her, was a masquerade ball.
her purse was full of colorful masks.
each mask was carefully crafted,
designed to impress everyone else.
she was always watchful
with one hand in her purse
so she could switch masks.

he walked into the ballroom,
slowly approaching her.
she took off her mask,
fumbling in her purse
for a different one.
he caressed her arm
and shook his head.

the breeze tickled her face 
for the first time during the ball.
he quietly gazed into her eyes,
smiled to calm her racing heart,
then pressed his lips to her cheek.
they danced for the rest of the ball,
and her masks were never seen again.

Our feelings were hidden within the foolish lies that lied between our lips.

At every turn I have looked
listened, felt around for a door
a door here and a door there
one that would open
let in the air
let me aboard
not afraid nor bored
or in doubt
always leaning toward
life, whatever would restore
the child’s enthusiasm
the young man’s excitement for the next adventure.

So many doors:
music, art, trees, flowers,
incense, a lover’s lips,
poetry, stories, a lunar eclipse,
lizards, drums, psalms,
the smell of her hair, the feel of her arms.

Still I search for a door open to the light
to heaven and depth and height.

Make me brave
By even a piece of smile
To live
till I can have whole world of your lips.
:-)

I press my lips against your lips
And wrap my fingers around yours
Now that you're gone,
All my lips press are cigarette tips
And all I'm wrapped with is remorse