if the bottoms of our feet
were repeatedly coated in black ink,
then someone at least would start so see
how much I fall behind.

like the shadow that begins
side by side but slowly lengthens
stretches, pulls away from
your footsteps, I fall behind.

the distance between our strides
leaves clues of one stronger, one weaker,
and it's unclear if the person ahead is faster
or the other is just slower and falls behind.

if i could paint my feet to see
the difference in our gaits that lead
you to be so ahead of me, I would
but I could never stop to look back
without falling behind.

The paint on my paintbrush
may have already dried,

but remember, I did not leave you,
even though I died.

If I wrote in rhyme,
with satisfying time,
would you like it?

Does it comfort you
seeing stanzas of two,

And is it pleasing
without any meaning?

Do you mind it?

And if I were to stumble
on my own words and
my thoughts crumble
beneath the structure

of beautiful nothingness
and regress

to complexity that resembles more
the disjointed thoughts of our souls
the pain and ugly in our hearts
the way we might actually speak (gasp!)
and think
and hope
and hurt
--is that not beautiful enough
for your poetic sensibilities?

If not, I understand
and will no longer clash
my words like waves that crash
on the unforgiving sand.

You may find much to see,
but this poem means nothing to me.

I hear you cry, it makes me look down and to the right. I sigh.
I miss the sparkle in your eye, your laugh and how it makes me high.

I have to make your tears go, but how? I know, a rainbow, now.

I'll tear the blue out of the sky to paint your ceiling with its dye.
I'll **** the orange from the sun. I'll throw it on your walls ***.
I'll strip the green from a willow to splash all over your pillow.
I'll squeeze the poppies for their red and spray it on your bed.

I'll steal the violet from an orchid and spill it on your floor kid.
I'll scrape the yellow off a bee and sprinkle stars for you to see.
I'll ****** the silver from the moon 'n' pour it all over your room.
I've gotta rush and do this soon, I cannot stand to see your gloom.

So, I grab my bag and start to fill it, I run a mile in a minute.
I reach your home and yeah, your there, still sitting in that chair.
Before you can tell me to stay, I shout, “I'll make your day.”
I dip my hand into my sachet, only to see it come out grey.

And looking at my hand I understand, why it's all so bland.
My withdrawal clouded my reason, colours fade as in season.
It wasn't me who took the hue, it wasn't you. It was simply due.
Leaves will come back to the trees, the sun shall shine again with ease,
when the gale turns to breeze and when the waves leave the seas.

While trying to tie all iris in a bow. I forgot what you very well know.
Clouds come and colours go, washed by rain and covered by snow.
Sometimes we just feel low, we rest, we weep, but then we glow.

the bind of leather
the drip of wax
the snap of the whip
and the bite of chain
around my neck.

I have always yearned for this,
the one who knows just how to
control my body and
make me submit.

But you've given me just a taste.
One night where you entranced my
each and every nerve.
And ever since, We've been tame and loving,
but I long for another night like the first.

So I tempt and tease with
harmless disobedience.
Just to feel your hands at my throat
and my back ****** against the wall
With the quietest throaty whisper
a glimpse of the dark man that
I long to share this bed with again.

Silently the snow falls to the ground,
Softly, softly softly,
Without a sound.


~Marian~

I must not gaze at them although
Your eyes are dawning day;
I must not watch you as you go
Your sun-illumined way;

I hear but I must never heed
The fascinating note,
Which, fluting like a river reed,
Comes from your trembing throat;

I must not see upon your face
Love's softly glowing spark;
For there's the barrier of race,
You're fair and I am dark.