Little
flowers
opened
as you
kissed me
lightly,
the petals
under the
moonlight
dance,
we wore
the robes
of the stars,
and gazed
upon the
tides, we
wondered
how they
beheld
a dream,
always
there
as the
sea of
our
arms,
gilded
in silver
scales,
returning
to a
home
where
you keep
these
hands of
mine
close, be
delicate,
for you
hold my
heart
and
yours.

i went to the market today
i bought myself a fresh bundle
not of your favourites, but of mine
of yellow and blue with green stems

tonight i will fill the mason jar fresh
with water and petals floating alongside
and i will watch as the petals drop
one by one i save them, dried

tomorrow i will go to the market
i will walk to the water and smile
i will skip rocks on the shore
and watch the waves stretch out for miles

i will keep those petals in a jar
those of green and yellow and blue
i will remember their place on my shelf
i will always remember you

The poet
of the night
closed her
eyes, and
dreamed of
little stars
as details
in the small
moment of
beauty she
beheld, as a
painting
once hidden,
now coming
alive before
her eyes, as
wondrous
as when
she had
first
met the
pages
of a book,
and held
them
more
dearest
than the
petals of
a flower
held close
to her
heart,
forever in
bloom.

He loves me
He loves me not

The rose is dead
All the petals have been plucked

Careless with love
Just as with the rose
Its no surprise it whithered and died
It was picked
Plucked
Thrown to the ground

As for the rose tho....
Well you know how the story goes

He loves me
He loves me not

i am over without the easy|
sometimes a cup without a saucer|
often shoes without socks|
but mostly i am legs running and arms whirling

in a hurry to escape the day|
in a rush to fill my head with bouncy thoughts|
in a flurry of wishing flat words into fantastic stories|
of turning grey into cerulean, and rust into claret

i am questions with more than one answer|
questions which play on my mind|
answers which go around and around|
like petals of eccentricity whelmed by an eddy|
and trying to escape the day in a hurry

There are so many lilies in my brain,
spreading the petals of the pain,
full of the fragrance of regret,
they are too hard to forget,
thrive and flow fast through the veins.

The rose caressed my fingers.
"he loves me, he loves me not."
My eyes could only see red.
"he loves me, he loves me not."
Ready to peel the sweet bud -
"he loves me, he loves me not."

His gentle fingers grazed mine.
"I love you, I love you so."
His eyes were milk chocolates.
"I love you, I love you so."
The petals clung to the rose.
"I love you, I love you so."

Under
the night,
I now
hold you
deeply, as
the sun
of your
existence,
healing
hearts
through
only your
peace
alone,
your
painted
light in
your
touch
of lips
on my
skin
lightly
as the
petals of
the sky
around
us, in our
float,
I ask
for the
delicate
in the
midnight
hours,
where
dark
is light
and
sings,
“love is
in the
unseen”,
for we
see each
other as
we are,
in all of
atoms,
love,
space,
and
time in
the touch
of your
hands
on mine,
you are I,
from the
deep
blue
rush
in skin,
to the
sacred,
we return.

A song lasts
forever once
it is held
as a secret
found, when
it tells you,
“seek me
not when
you wish
to find me,
you will
adrift to me
unknowingly,  
whether
in leaves
as pages,
stars as
eyes,
flowers
as hearts,
floating
petals as
the lover’s
touch,
the words
we share
as the
moon
drifting
waves,
I seek to
be the
one that
touches
you, as
the stars
in their
tides,
the
soft
as the
lavender
dancing,
the wind
carrying
the aroma
through
your hair,
nature
allows
you to see
the light
silently
glowing
in others,
the steps
of people
are as the
fields
soaring
under a
zephyr,
your
hands
reach
for the
skies,
I return
to you,
as your
origin, the
fragile and
deep bud
waiting to
be opened
as the
others,
whom,
as you,
await the
sunlight
awakening,
seeker of
truth, look
no farther
than the
bird upon
your palm,
singing a
prayer of
home
you will
create
wherever
you may
roam
in the
fields of
flowers and
beyond,
to the
eternity of
you and I.