[You can hear the air moving the l e a v e s of the
p a l m t r e e s.
Last rays of sun and it’s June 3]
We walk on a white-washed street and
Forget Me Not flowers on the fences screaming this is your new world.
You are that world, your eyes are Portofino in the middle of a neighborhood of coins.
We are walking and you stop because you look at a window of someone, while I was (I was) fixing the shouts of light on your temple, living the new world.
[All my cracks filled with water]
It’s warm pleasant, we walk, seeing life taking and not just wishing,
we have excelled
in the plastic world.
I stood by the ho^use with the most beautiful garden, I touched bird in paradise and you say that it’s [our garden]
The summer breeze seduces my face
Inside I die for your embrace
you asked for space, so I gave you an empty universe
These cold summers leave me with mixed emotions
Afraid of feeling lonely while I hide from your embrace
Depression pumping blood through my anxious heart
Its scared to love, because it fears being torn apart
My nightmares live on an avenue, called I dream of having you
Confused between wanting you and needing you
Staying with you or leaving you
These cold summers have me afraid of losing you
While I have faith in keeping you
She could only speak when his silence was sad
She would trade her butterflies for his summer rain
If she knew he would ever leave her in the memory lane
Her Sunshine would keep him warm in all the cold winter mornings
When the darkness invaded her thoughts
He was not there with warm hearts
Somewhere over the sky
when clouds appear
She misses her heart to dance in the summer rain
Would he find her at the edge of last breaths
To recall a long-forgotten life
with full of crazy, bittersweet, shattered dreams.....?
Would she ever be able to dream again to walk an endless path at the Eclipse of the Sun.....?
I have never felt beautiful.
Never. No. Not me.
But there was a sundress I owned
in the fifth grade when things weren't so bad.
And I wore that dress on a sunny day in May;
I wore it confidently.
It had orange and white stripes
and it reminded me of popsicles.
Maybe that was why on that sunny day in May
a man tried to get me to follow him.
My sister told me not to listen to the people
who stood awkwardly outside of schoolyards.
But I couldn't help but think that maybe
that awkwardly standing man thought I was beautiful.
And maybe that is why I seek love in men
who always seem to have cruel intentions.
Or maybe, it's just the reason why
I enjoy the orange cream popsicles so much.
Make the most of it they say,
As if that’s not
What we’re already trying to do
Though definitions vary between late
Evenings and impending sunrise,
Watch night sky glisten with match
Sticks striking skin, a glimmer of pointillism
Find our way home by connecting the dots
Taking time holding onto consequence of being
Together under assumption that if these eyes
Never close dawn can never come
But it does and how sweetly significant it is
That the day can end in reverie against such
Sullen cries of waning innocence
Pulled awake with thick honey beams
Shrugged off residual suppositions
Lingering still a soft pot of moral support ready
To mitigate existential insecurity waits eagerly
In the kitchen or outside painted as neoteric
Portraits of wash-town forests
Take a break decide course of action
Stretch and listen leaves whisper hymnals
For the day’s intent, sing along
A chorus of vibrant arrangement
To run or wander is always
The question the Great Mother Moon asks,
To rest or mend is what’s requested when
Our eyes open, revealing again an opportunity
To repeat or start anew
She walks freely in the night in these dreams
Like a goddess of love who has sailed through
A thousand oceans blue just to find me
My heart has taken flight on the eve of
The second Summer of love known because
The first one barely even set us free
She talks so polite to my tender soul
Like everything that is said and all that
Is ever truly, simply meant to be
Our God given right is to fall in love
To live eternally bound in its plan
With certainty we surely must agree
The art of love should be shown everywhere
And true love will leave no questions to spare
August is the dreary, immobilizing heat at the height of summer weariness
and languid romantics.
It is alone on the trail in the woods,
head thrown back,
against the pavement with sleep in mind,
a hand dangling over the edge into the pool.
It is feet dragging through the dirt below the swing,
back and forth,
beneath the dome of stars and the hazy mahogany clouds sauntering past the burnt hue of the nearly colorless sky,
and the heat lightning and the blue and green glow that rests upon the blackened treetops that surround you on all sides
on a canoe in the middle of the lake as mosquitos nip at your skin,
but you care little because you feel just about as small in comparison to the universe as they do in comparison to you,
and you wish that you were as hungry to bite at the world beyond the horizon's trees as they are.
They prick your skin for the blood that lies beneath it.
You only wish you had the courage to strike the earth.
Your snowflake sense takes over
You still can't let go of this pullover
Winter, my dear, your coldness do not ceases
petrified each time that my glance moves towards you
Are you always this insensible, dear mine?
Or is it just to catch up my attention
as the flowers that aren't born on your lips
You will not flower your way into my heart again
Enviable guts you must have
to play summer while
frivolous voices consume you inside
A little white fluff on a green stem.
The green stem blends with the surrounding grass.
When I wanted my dreams to come true my eight year old breath would blow the white fluff.
The sun would make the white flurries sparkle and dance in the summer breeze.
It truly was magical.
I believed in fairies and wizards.
I remember the day my uncle got upset because I blew magic all over his perfectly green lawn.
My uncle informed me that apparently the fluff was a weed
not magic at all.
There is an innocence to not knowing, a part of my youth died that day.
The part of me that believed in magic and princesses.
I guess people have two choices in life
They can see a weed
Or they can see