Dear Moon,
You yearn for the love of the sun,
changing your presence.
Why do you run?
Hiding yourself so others can shine;
gleaming only in darkness ever so divine.
You look for strength in the waves
Never still, just twenty seven days.
Breaking yourself for the heartbreaking fact that you are constantly wondering if you will stay intact.

Eclipse. Twice a year you have the chance
to meet your love and have a dance. Eclipse.
Deep within the galaxies, dreaming of living your fantasies.
Desolate darkness. The sun is away,
lighting her fire in the month of May.
Burning so bright, but there’s nothing else to say.

She waits to see you glisten, to watch and even listen.
Curses herself for her fatal passions of a love too strong that has no ration.
But your love is forbidden. Why do you race?
Dear Moon, is it worth the chase?

Metamorphosis from the start of the day,
January’s promises,
had so much to say.

The beginning of the cycle,
to the end of the new.
The remnant of the spring morning dew
moves summer breeze
into leaves of a green hue,
and the Heartache of July.

The sun rose and set with You,
until it rained
and the skies once again turned a somber shade of familiar blue.

Metamorphosis of the self,
turning like a snake.
Shedding the skin of heartache and
remaking myself, again.

Metamorphosis I bloom and break,
I wither and wake
through the hardships of the year,
taking a new found shape
of me-

The moon wanes and waxes,
while the heart mends and sax’s
continue to play sweet melodies from the month of May,
and we are reminded of the day
that breaks and dawns.

The body yawns
from the weight of the year.

Yet still, the metamorphosis blooms and births
a new beacon of light,
preparing herself for the thirty-first night
and the turn of the calendar, again.

Can a Love song be used twice?
I love you’s and the reminiscent blues,
do the rhythm and blues remember the
ones you loose ?

This reminded me of you.
I use the lyrical hues
of this fine tune to put into words my feelings for you.

Expiry date.

Can a hummingbird still sing
when your number no longer rings?
I wonder
Nat King Cole’s somber stardust melody still
haunts my reverie.

Can I really vow to another with the words I solemnly devoted to my past lover?

As seasons change
so to does my musical range.
Yet a love song , is still a Love song.

To my future love,
at times my hearts desire cannot create words which quantify that;
of a lyrical tune and a lyre.

A Love song.
Love in the present.
Beyond the fond memories of things the lovers dreamt,
Love remains in all things spent
within life’s timely symphonies.

How does one free themselves of Aphrodite’s sly paradox of still loving the one who broke their heart ?

Love that preserves beyond the break
is a measure
of the authentic tether
felt by the depths of the heart.

Every conscious step I make
towards a new future, beyond the girl who
felt like a soulmate,
feels like the break
of a promise.

Pinky swear was the old charming mantra.

I move ahead.
Yet I still have to tread on the familiar grounds we once said
our I love yous.

Memory lane.

Sometimes I choose the painful path,
looking through pictures before Loves pain,
a consolation of sorts
to know it was real
and not that of a dream.

Romeo’s lips uttered dreams are nothing but vain fantasy,
but at least I have the memory.

The ghost of you follows me,
uninvited into my reverie
so vividly
no matter how hard I try to release the heartache of you and me.

I’ll keep trying,
until one day it becomes a fond reminiscent memory of what once was and no longer,
trudging through the graveyard
until the light brings fonder
and my heart may wander anew.

Shapes shifting through the sheets
of paper, in my dreams
soft pillow seams, we move like a gentle
firey breeze -
your shape consumes me.

I have never seen volcanoes, yet my
thoughts erupt in shapes.
What is it to desire a shape ?

A venetian spell of curved brushes to cheeks,
dreaming of the days and weeks I could
lay, still, yet volcanic, staring opposite your face, in embrace and tracing your skin with my finger.

Like a brush stroke,
my muse

what is it to loose the memory of a body?

Every trace and touch
each mahogany blush
within the rush of lust,
a cosmic trust between body to body
and mind, to the Hearts’ justice.

A sketch,
first love.
I cloak and glove the painting of you
moving through new shapes away from
view, yet sometimes with solemn and blue, sly Fate washes water-coloured visions and crimson hues through my mind and i’m reminded of each line, curve and shape.

Oh desire ! What a profound honour
to know a body beyond shape.

Loss
a lack there of,
an unattainable reach.
a call that merely rings
a voice that begins to fade.

Loss
a memory
the past.
How long will this pain last?

The mind springs i need to call !
the heart remembers oh, not at all.

Loss,
The fact or process of losing something or someone.

Someone dear,
no longer near.
gone afar.

Remember,
take a look up there
a look within,
they’re right there
gleaming like a Star

After a breakup,
does Love exist in a vacuum of time?

a picture
a song
a feeling
a place
a smell

an undefinable entity.

Does that vacuum exist only in a quantum universe found somewhere parallel to the Heart?
Do we have direct access to the Heart, or merely an understanding of how to enter the melancholy door ?

The Heart never forgets,

only heals and grows
with the highs and lows
does a feeling ever still grow
or simply go
into the black hole of what once was
with the fond bittersweet memories of Love and loss…

Moments in time,
held in a cosmic box,

can we really measure the Love and loss paradox?

Love is not what can be measured, not finite but the simply knowing.
Love is abundance, not scarcity
but safety and continuity

Love is a constant.
an unspoken communication between conscious thought and expression.

Love is beyond lust, an understanding more than a phase.
A choice to be fully vulnerable in order to embrace
all that comes with the beauty and grace,
to Love.

Love is surrendering to the doubt, the sabotage and the camouflage of what ifs when the what is here and now.

Love is present, growing and spent,
the lovers dreamt
as boundless as the sea,
my love, a longing from Aphrodite
to Love.

dreamy days
summer
breeze
river walk
try not to sneeze.
talks about the future
can this really be?
forever if that is
make a wish
blow the petals
sweet forest mist.
marriage puppies
and dress rehearsals
chipping teeth and tv commercials
this feels euphoric
can this never end
this feels like love
just around the riverbend.