The fissure in the skies
(yours or mine)
Are not of distance, nor time,
But of our hearts' disbelief
Of these satellites,
Of these static, static stars,
From ever colliding,
     From ever entwining.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Our love was
(has got to be)
Among the best, the immensest
And the most baffling
Of all the optional things.
We willed it
     To be like this.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

It took a leaf
     And a thousand more
To make this blinding sun sparkle,
And time crafted the elements altogether,
But your eyes took this kiss,
     Just this kiss,
          And then no more.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

There is a voice that enlists itself
To exclusivity, and is patient.
One that never knew the tongue,
But just the heart.

There is a voice that heeds,
And heeds only to your eyes.
There is a darkness somewhere,
That is an origin of light.
Lean to it. It deserves
Your celebrated silence.

It deserves your soul.
It deserves itself, its true.
It deserves...
     ...your love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

But it is when I kiss you
That I rush the poem of love,

And the righteous time delays
Its clockwork move,

And all the writers, old and new,
Write to agree with me.

Only when I kiss you...

When you begin...
     ...to kiss me back.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Not even the vein
On her ringfinger
Reached
Her heart.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

My heart was
An empty
Nudist beach
Before I met you,
But now
You are there,
We are there.
     And finally
          Are...*

© 2015 J.S.P.