My secret thoughts reside
in the backyard of my existence
where darkness cries out in shivers
clear to my bones.  
I wake up to find them
packed neatly on shelves in my mind
and wish I could just crawl away,
be left alone.

They come from my emotions,
dressed in sadness
with no intention of ever  comforting
what they transform.
There are days
when they make a decision
to rearrange the places I stand
until I am left without hope,
forlorn.

My secret thoughts are the lyrics of my being
which bid my heart
to walk on a white canvas
of the purest snow.
Oh the damage
that could be done
if I spoke them aloud,
my true feelings revealed
with these eyes full of woe.

I cannot bend or I'll break
so I hide on these shelves
in my mind,
packed neatly away
from all that challenges
my tree of life,
such as falling leaves.
My secret thoughts control
how my tongue refrains
from speech,
So my true feelings,
you will.....
never see.

Taking a sip from his mug.
Sugar, the vanilla and the cream
romancing.
I asked forgiveness,
this animated disposition,
a weak voice to comfort,
he never forgets the white chocolate,
the looking back.

Everything went still,
the conversation,
hot metal, pull the plug.
The tender puffiness,
the greatest,
the best seats.

It was time to
the timer of the oven
slowly
overcooked.
Dream of him, a phone call,
ashes.
His heart beating
wanting to be alone.

The movement of your fingers
forms lines I can only imagine
in the night
like tracing constellations
or counting stones
beneath the river miles.
I hear you play
in a certain distance,
between seas where the earth
ends.
I listen,
And welcome it fully,
And slowly,
slowly,
become part of
its melody.

Wherever.
There my heart rhymes.

You said
we should chase the sun
before it sets
capture it with our
own little hands
and make it ours.

You said
we should embrace the moon
and keep it for a while
as we give ourselves
into the song
of night.

You said
we will never forget
the alignment of stars
even when it begins
to hide
forever.

You said
we will wait
til we know what's
love again----
behind these trees
standing longer than
a decade years.

You said
we will hold
but it is
us
we tend
to
lose.

Their breath clouds the air,
Like the smoke from a cigarette,
And so that is what they pretend to do.

They laugh at themselves lightly,
Both thinking that this youthful innocence,
Will always be apart of them.
They are naive and in that,
Beautiful.

They have few worries or cares,
Just worn shoes,
And an itch to continue walking through the silent streets.

One of them suggests
They should lie in the road,
And search above for constellations.
The other agrees with excitement,
And finds comfort on the pavement.

But as they look up,
They can not help but realize,
The city lights dust the evening sky,
Masking all of the speckled stars.
So heartbroken they rise,
And continue on forward.

Never bothering to look for silly things,
Like constellations,
Again.

Deep within the ways I love you
lies a valley,
where my wandering footsteps
find no boundaries.

Hands held in hands
Drift amongst the pearls
Silent in emotion
I know you are mine

You are not my world,
Am I yours?
Speechless be our hearts
same sun, different moons.

The air we breathe
Tasting of honeysuckle
Embedded on a memory
On a lifetime of love

"A collaboration by Neva Flores and Aidz Giannini"

Some try to convince themselves,
this is the rarest of sensations
as they walk along the edges of a place
where their name is whispered by a spring
that flows love to all.
Still, we wonder
if it takes a truly perfect heart
beating softly
inside of a self-built cocoon
to be inspired,
hear the call.  

Does nightfall build the pressure felt
of those who fall
until they lower their expectations
find they are climbing mountains
hoping to catch
the silvery moon?
Is it not obvious that these hearts
will travel fearlessly
always bowing their heads
and closing their eyes,
in hope true love
will blossom soon.

I wonder if they have folded their hearts'
around an ache
no one is able to see.
Or if this is only the beginning
of recognizing myself
in their mirror.  
This rare sensation I feel
walking along the same edge
is merely erasing each step
fearlessly taken.
The silvery moon
has not....
grown any nearer.