Quiet, hallucinating Ombrophile seeks Pluviophobe
to convert to own religion
Must like ******* in the woods at night
& being happy to fight

angrily over nothing & to believe
in little green men
My personal hobbies include punting on the river
& singing ' Greensleeves'

when you came back
it snowed
& we took photos.
There were flakes
of sleet
in your hair
about to melt...
Later
the moon
was a frozen
coin
and I was a flake
watching
from a window
pane

I made a hundred little songs
That told the joy and pain of love,
And sang them blithely, tho’ I knew
No whit thereof.

I was a weaver deaf and blind;
A miracle was wrought for me,
But I have lost my skill to weave
Since I can see.

For while I sang—ah swift and strange!
Love passed and touched me on the brow,
And I who made so many songs
Am silent now.

You said that you cared
but you never did
You said that you loved me
but i never felt it
You said that OUR future counts for you
but you were never serious
You said that you'll never leave my side..
..where are you?
At last you did..
-Sharvish

I crawled into a new life
When maybe I should have jumped
Slowly lowering myself
Into the icy depths
When I should have taken a dive
So now here I am
Frostbitten and cold
I did this to myself

You walked by and never saved me
Because I wasn't drowning
You saw me standing in the icy water
And just assumed that I was fine
But if I had just jumped
If I had only taken that dive,
Then maybe you would have seen me drowning
Maybe you would have tried to save me.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.