Sometimes I feel like your story book
The pages that you flip open on bad days
To relive some sort of angst only
to inevitably close and breathe a sigh of relief
Knowing it is not your reality anymore
And I am not real enough to you
To inquire about the sequels
The ones you haven't read
But are drenched in the aftermath of your actions

Living, breathing consequence

Do you believe that I've forgiven you
Because you've forgiven yourself?
Because you are better now for someone else?
Do you think I remember you fondly
Because I am always so kind?
And don't consider that, like you changed, maybe
I have too?

In a wave of nonchalance,
You ask me how I am doing

I want to ask if someone asked you to reach out
Someone who knows me and may have guessed
That I've had one of my fragile days
And knows that I might be more susceptible
To grace

And I say
I've been better since you ripped out my pages
But I still have days when I wonder
If you would have ever cared enough
To do more than borrow me
And return me here
To this dusty shelf

Once a year its champagne!
I feel calm passionate and teary.
It gets my head to Paris
  As life is broken down goes out
in transition or revelation,
there's a greàter darkness then the one we inadvertently fight,
the darkness of the soul
that has lost its way.
I was chosen by great sages crossing paths the sting of my blindfold lingers noone sees hope or their future, or where it leads we know only that it's bought in pain and sacrifice.
Letting go what I loved the most.
was eternal loss, having
no reparation, neither in time,
nor in eternity.
My love river is truth it's mouth is
cosmic creation.
He measured sensuality
secretively, and in shadows 
he showed me feathers of half
a man syllhuette of him,
and feels guilty I just fill in blanks,
why smack a devolving face?
And what the heck!
I first measure people in trust.
then love, as true love is rare.
Trust tells love where to roam.
Love can't be made perfect
in distrust nor fear of rivals.
When I give my heart I do,
When I share my dreams too.
I do not drown in midnight
   dew not retreat;
but I won't take sand in my eyes.
After the loving I go from rags
to riches in his love or shine
to wiser horizons..
~~~~~~~~~
Mr and Mrs Andrews.
At Karijinbba

Let's write poetry
Forget about our real lives
Pretend to be free