what a whopping willow
slinging sunlight
cascading off of falls
like the sea-enriched spray
of another lifeline
anchored in the crease
of a out-reached city
busting restlessly
in spite of the
whopping willow tree

It's nothing like you'd expect it to be. It's losing your breath and it's losing sleep. It's waiting. Love is being vulnerable. Love is still getting nervous a year later. It's whiskey and wine. Love is letting someone in on all the people who have ever left you out. Love is telling someone where it hurts and them telling you why. Love is forgiving. Love is trying harder to better your other half more than your own. Love is staying in bed all day. Love is the cold of a fan against the warmth of a body. Love is skin. Love is child-like and everything but. Love, the right kind, is passion-filled, and it's overwhelming. Love is feeling yourself submerge and being ready to go under. Love is heavy. It's also light. Love is having someone know where you're coming from. Love is loving their bed more than your own. Love is becoming fond of the sound of snoring and the look of glasses and the feeling of carrying on tradition. Love is taking care of others when you need taking care of the most. Love is staying quiet. It's being passive. It's also speaking up. Love is choosing the sunrise or the sunset. Love is making plans for the future and the anticipation of seeing them through. Love is resilient, and it doesn't forget. Love is a muscle memory. It has phases and there's always a story.
The best thing about love is the feeling.

Branches reach but never touch
they are climbed
but no one ever reaches the top.
they're untouched ground
some small child wishes to reach
not realising that the top branches started at his feet.
someone grew the tree
and were tall enough to reach the top
but the tree didn't stop.
it grew and grew
and grew and grew
so it stands above all heads.
Those top branches have been reached
but no one will know until they find a way to get there aswell.

if you are the christmas tree
i am ashes in his chimney

it's not the same, is it?


--Watercolour

Grasping to the sky
With ever reaching
Branches, leaves spirit
Themselves to sacred
Airs.  
           Old tree, a star set
Truncated with sprite earth,
Stolid, touchstone spark,
Place, feeling all waves
Dripping by like clouds.

In some underworld,
Bathing with Gods,
Are immortal roots
Divining water, laid
In ceremonious soil,
Digging out golden,
Unfallowed tombs.

Old tree in the sun,
Great soul barking
Skywards each day,
Joyous arms clench,
Lansing, higher out,
Embracing heavens.

**** -
Why do I feel like this
I have what I need
But not what I want
Am I selfish? -
I guess I'm not the only one
But that doesn't help
These songs aren't helping
Although I love them
-
Do I need to constantly feel more?
I thought that was over
I want that carbon
But no, I mustn't
I mustn't even try.
"At the dawning of the day"
Hi.. Hi.. Oh why
Does that make me so happy
Even to imagine
Oh but I do love now
I am just selfish
Even to love what I want.
I am afraid
I am afraid to fall in
Incase I fall out
That's what different
I won't fall out! I command you..
The heart doesn't follow commands
Stories don't end
With happily ever after
Why would this be different
You know why!
Oh eat me alive
Nothing is true
Everything.. Everything is permitted -
I wish
Some songs don't even feel like
They have to be written
They have always been there
Someone just wrote it down one day
Oh write it up
Oh write it down
Oh let us wait until we can't
Then act
Youthful
Full, yes, of many things
Full enough to know it's chemical
But I like to think it's more
Pine
That is the tree I'd grow from
My body
I Pine for you
Full enough to know
Know what I can't have
I'll want more -
**** -

summer afternoon  
drifting into vision
gulmohar bloom

summer evening
does the breeze
dance or the tree?

summer bath
the shiver in
collected water

summer twilight
ma shops for
bigger buckets

summer dawn
music spills into
empty buckets

summer dusk
water tanker cuts
a snore into two

summer rain
*outstretched palm
barred window

Summer falls to autumn's grip
As skies fade to grey

Green is siphoned from the leaves
By autumn's chilly, windy thieves

A swift swarm of burnt Amber
A growing flame;

A leaf tumbles from a tree
Tossed about the solemn breeze

For from its home it must now flee
To join its brothers

A single glowing ember
A remnant of September

Now lay strewn amidst the others
To be trodden by winter's feet