Lover, every poem I read,
I read with your face inside my eyes.
Beyond whiteness I climb,
Tinge that breaks on bookish cleavage
My iris wishes bonfire for such darkness.
Glow, glow, glowing ceremonies of
Our blessed letters swirl
Like the freedom of a thousand fireflies,
From the translucent jar named
Childish amusement.
I am that child
With drizzling thoughts on twilight toes,
Who walks mile after mile to drink light,
To polish the white nails of moon
Beneath midnight fantasy.
Sipping pages, caffeinated self,
Watches your feet in ballerina dream,
Rhyming rapidly.
Flamboyant ribbon-like memories
Adding colors to every breath I drop,
Clapping like cards of familiar hearts,
That fall one over another
Like I fell for you, being that scarlet.

Excuse me
For being a little pessimist
But are you forgetting
That everything you do
Since birth until now
Isn't at all
Steps to success
Everything just leads
To the same dark, death

speak up darling, you've got a beautiful voice.
speak of the worlds inside your head.
tell me about the poems you wrote when you were young,
tell me off all the nights you haven't slept.

you sit away quietly, with your head in the clouds.
you're much too far, can I pull you down?
your voice is my reality, it never fails to remind me
that there are mysteries in the world and I can't wait until yours find me.

my existence is spent
pondering over life
as if it is only thought of
but never lived

she is not afraid to love, she is afraid of being loved. she is afraid of him putting all his faith in her, just so she can break down, as she does so often, and shatter a bond not found in anyone else. she is afraid to see him cry and to tear the heart he so willingly exposes.

when he needs her, she is there. she uses that time to help him just as she does to help herself. as they speak, she tries to memorize the sound of his rumbling voice. her words are soft with him but never so soft as for him to fall into a slumber and never desire to wake up. she wants him to find a replaceable solace within her presence.

she loves him silently, cares for him without pay. she acts like she doesn't need his money when she aches for it, as we all do. eventually her heart will break from a lack of reciprocity. she knows this, yet she has set her path onto love-bound self-destruction. as long as he doesn't love her, she can keeping loving him. such is the life of the volatile.

Your eyes are a hazel terrain
A land foreign like mars
With valleys and peaks
Of yellows, browns and greens
And hints of frozen oceans

Your eyes are the geography
Of somewhere hidden and forgotten
A place I am supposed to navigate
But love, I'm so bad with directions

So give me more time
I plead
You know I have a handicap
And I will keep on trying
To orient the map