the first days of spring are upon us
and the rebirth is apparent in things all around us
from the leaves slowly growing back
to the grass, in need of mowing from growing fast
squirrels nibbling on juniper berries
the scent in air, sappy tar carried
with pollen intermixed
your allergies amiss
though still fortunate for the spring

Thy lips like golden pages of a sacred book are shining.
Thou art resplendent in gold;
I am shy in waves of pink.
Soften my sweet sap, soften my love for thee and let it be planted like a seed in the grounds.
With thy light may thou water my heart.
For thee I die, for thee I die.

The world is dark
but the moon is big enough,
bright enough
to light it up just enough to make out
the dark grey silhouette
of the mountains
against the blue-grey sky.

The hustle of the day goes quiet.
The stars are out.
The night is chilly,
but warm enough
that you don’t need a jacket.

What a perfect night to be lonely.

This bittersweet sap slows time down.
It feels thick and slightly cloudy.
Its the feeling of being full and heavy.
It is happy and overbearingly sad
all at once.
But this sap
is comfortable
and welcoming.
I want the quiet night
and bittersweet sap
to last forever.

I am the flower of untouched perceptibility, the unique breed nobody could ever find in any imposing gardens. Do not chase to haunt me and the richness of my petals’ sap if you are not a holy breed of spirit as I might wither and get my seeds of knowledge scratched in your unjust volition. I am the pearl, the mermaid chain of blushing moon tides.

Roses are red.
Violets are, violet .
But blue is what they said
And I just don’t know why yet.

Roses are red.
Violets are still violet.
And don’t ever forget
That I love your, eye lid.

Roses are still red.
Oops I guess violets ARE blue ;)
(Insert something cheesy)
Cuz baby I LOVE you!

I took a walk down a sloping path
Trees and brambles, nature’s bloodbath

My hands, a guide
My eyes, a map
My mouth, drooling and drawn to that amber sap

The ground below finally led me there
A trusted fort, a quiet town square
A lonely whistle serenading the unsoiled air

A symmetrical tree sat waiting like a snare
For me to take its’ paragon
But, oh, do I even dare?