A warmth I can’t equate
to anything that
blossomed and I could touch as real
in my life to date.
Watching an ocean dance at twilight,
shifting and settling into myself;
a return home
after a long retreat.
Filled as much as one can,
living in a partly broken glass.
A warmth I can’t equate,
that smile that kept the streetlights,
still humming on their own,
late at night.
An absolute joy,
to see me,
that kept the sands still and made
the waves unafraid to keep crashing on.
The light brightening settling eyes,
on me,
like the happiest moment
of any day,
is when I’m right there,
walking along your way.
A warmth I can’t equate,
settled side by side
wrapped in fresh air and
twinkling planets high above,
breathing down a clear night,
on souls forever fixed
in an achingly sweet moment;
watching paths cross,
almost collide,
with words of love and loyalty,
grace, beauty, adoration, bliss,
transfixed on the glimmering promise
of single coloured roses
as gifts
for a sweet girl
you say
and a whimsical romanticism not dead.
A warmth I can’t equate,
how unearthly beautiful
you let me feel
in your eyes;
love professed on empty beaches,
showered attention on a
long-time lonely girl
you melted and folded
into a goddess.
Love professed
for a patched-up
lady singing melodies,
and holding herself together
with decisions scorching her back,
confused nettles of feelings and
obligations, allowances,
grievances and sadness
bearing a weight on her slender shoulders;
She’s a creature holding aloft all the
wonders and hearts of decisions left to face.
A warmth I can’t equate,
as I am
the protagonist always
failing to make the right decision,
lost and redeemed and burdened
in every instalment;
no one has made me feel as wondrous
and special,
in all the times I’ve had lovers sit before me.
But this protagonist,
has not had the greatest
trove of romances, nor the heart
to carry much more fears;
pieces are given away,
in every extended touch and heartbeat,
so please beware,
what’s left.
A warmth I can’t equate,
right now, lost in every state,
but hope I can at least reciprocate,
in some way after healing has mended
and stitched
and time has played it’s course to warm cold feet.
This lady is afraid,
of how quickly you might have fallen,
for all her wise, sad songs.
A sweet, unsettling fantasy made reality.
But she knows.
Of this warmth.
No one can really equate.
