1-02 Wood
Dew glistens, hibiscus blooms,
Sun peeks high, Koko's crest.
Shadows fade, Hanauma's calm,
Ocean sighs, tides gently roll.
Brown hair unbound, a steady sound,
Sun shimmers, on her sleeping face.
Chest rises, falls, in gentle sleep,
Hibiscus adorns, a tranquil scene.

A gentle breath, a moment's peace,
Hibiscus Heartbeat fills the air.
A soft drumbeat, deep within,
Tranquility, a love so fair.
The drum quickens, a thunderous sound,
A sign, a gesture, in slumber deep.
Yet she remains, in peaceful rest,
A longing touch, the heart will keep.

Ear turned, a gesture, a beat divine,
Hand reaches out, a soft caress.
Hand meets hand, a connection found,
Beat so strong, a silent song.
Heavy heart beats, a morning's grace,
Love's pure touch, a heart embraced.
Slumber deep, a dream unfolds,
Connection flows, a story told.

The deafening beat, she cannot hear,
But feels the touch, a blissful sign.
She feels the beat, so strong and near,
Hibiscus Heartbeat, love's design.
A serenade, in morning's light,
Longing for love, to come her way.
Two hearts entwined, in gentle might,
A love so pure, where dreams hold sway.

1-01 Wood
Sunlight, a pale wash across the room,
catches the curve of your sleeping shoulder.
A stillness hangs, a moment held in amber,
before the world's clamor breaks the quiet.

My heart, a quiet drumbeat in my chest,
a warmth that spreads, a gentle, rising tide.
This love, a gift you placed within my hands,
an old soul's wonder, found in morning's grace.

Rays of light, like golden threads, entwine
through strands of hair, a halo on your cheek.
The air is thick with the scent of peach and rose,
a fragrance woven from your very being.

I trace the line of your jaw, the soft swell of your lips,
a landscape etched in the memory of touch.
This waking moment, a fragile, precious thing,
the first sight, the first breath, the first, always you.

the pink clouds move slow
slow like i was tricked by the years

gleaming over grass i walked
by feet
small in saturday's shoes

sharp patch grass and dirt that stuck to my back
replaced by the warmth of wood chips
familial love reflects off the set up sign
  swaying on the lawn

i feel its burn in my eyes

the ice cream man drives by
i guess the best flavor isn't in stock anymore

the sun keeps setting on my dreams to escape  
i already woke up from it all

warmth.
a fire that needs kindling.
it’s dying out,
we’ve lost the tinder stick.
so i blow.
i fill up my lungs until they hurt:
inhale;
exhale;
my head spins and there is no air.
i do it again,
i don’t save any for myself.
i am dizzy.
the ash is swirling
up in the air.
inhale.
exhale.
my chest is going to burst.
the ash is settling on my skin,
tattooing the harsh reminder
of how much i give.
inhale.
exhale.
i can no longer see.
inhale. exhale.
i have done all that i can,
all that remains is my soul.
my heart has abandoned me,
my lungs have died.
my mind is on the outs with me,
she says i shouldn’t even try.
do i throw it into the embers, too?
perhaps that’s all it needs to stay alight forever,
but i am too tired now.
i never listen.

Reaching into the higher worlds
Through the slabs of consciousness.
Peeling apart the astral membrane
Of eternal, transcendental splendour.
The visions!
The slabs of consciousness!
The rotating, interlocking dawn!

the gift in a dilapidated
two-story country home
empty
for miles
through holes in the walls
on either side
blackened supports
and ramshackle comfort
tackled by fire
caressed by rain
you can see through to the second floor
if you tilt your head,
expose blood subways,
let your hair
grasp at spine
the fault of past residents
mirrored in big blue eyes
a world of green and brown
surrounding, no,
growing from
this pin-***** destination
left to the wind,
to the quiet
the underscored call
of persons,
stronger than I,
who knew they were finished
and walked away.
who saw the green and the brown,
and looked at the home,
once warm, I'm sure,
and thought,
"there's so little here,
compressed,
with an expanse beyond
so much friendlier than
brittle walls,
tender floors,
metal and wood."

so they left

and rightfully so.

There are buckets made of plastic
There are buckets made of wood
The former are fantastic
The latter not so good.

There are buckets made of metal
And canvas buckets too
But metal for durability
I'd choose if I were you.

There's a bucket on a digger
And buckets made of leather
The former are the bigger
And the latter not so clever.

There are buckets made of tin
And with a little ***** in hand
Kids can build sand castles
When playing on the sand.

There are buckets made of rubber
Or with a wringer for a mop
And some in white enamel
With a blue ring round the top.

There are so many buckets
And some I may have missed
But if anyone should ask me
That's my bucket list.