a petal wafts through the fields;
as though a cradle for the morning dew
forged by winter’s labour.

the flower remains anonymous.

a nervous 𝘵𝘴𝘬 of the lips
a little drop of sweat bulging at the neck
an eyelid flickering way too much
a mind that won’t change
a pillow that reeks of salt
a photograph of a distant memory
a fly buzzing around the plasma tube light
a buzz that won’t go away

a switch that won’t turn off
a stain that won’t dust off
a walk that’s unusual for the age
a kid who refuses to play

it’s the little things that give you away

Poetry is the subtleties of life.

I don't want you to be subtle anymore
Those little hints you give
Those quick glances of approval
How your hand accidentally brushes against mine
How you avert your eyes when I notice you staring
The touch of your hand upon my arm as you laugh at my jokes
Those little side comments that imply more than what was said
I want all of you
Stop holding back
Grab my hand and hold it with all of your might
Laugh with all of the oxygen your lungs will provide you with
Openly admire me with those dark analytical eyes
Speak the first nonsense that may enter your mind
Don't be afraid of the stupid walls and guidelines society has built
Let down your guard
Dispel your fear
I plead for you
To finally let your passion mirror that of mine
And let our flames burn in synchrony
And let this loving without restraint
Take it's own course