Inspired by the weather I write

Look out of the window

See the same old tree wilt

Its top turned all yellow

Shedding its leaves

Wondering if it would be happy?

Or…. hopeful about the next spring

I try to figure out the unspoken

And wish that I could know

The course of  nature

The way it works.

If words be my lover

I would love it dearly

The curves, love the bends

Love the starts and the stops

Madness it is to call it love

But no other love affair been so insistent

None caught my imagination so high

Able to wake me in the mid of nights

To tell stories of the day

I lose the track of time

I lose myself to it

Strange strong affinity

To the letters, the meanings, the words

When all else go slumbering

It’s just you and I

The intimacy of writing

And the never ending possibilities

Of something new

Little discs used to make us happy
Like miniature frisbys flying into our mouths
Getting lost in the trees
The branches tangled and knotted
Unable to escape.

Even empty air
seems interesting
when you've got stuff to do.
I just stare
at the ceiling,
but oh, what a view.

the way your lips
and your eyes
make my skin grow scarlet
and my insides stir
the planes of your face
as I caress my fingers across your
cheekbones,
your eyelids,
the skin behind your ear and the
muscles under the sheer cotton of your shirt
they make me want to do to you what
a summer breeze does to the dandelions