Papier-mâché bliss,
wrapped of wafer-thin
  promises midst kisses,
glued together with
    yesterday's adhesive,
fallen as separate pieces
   of wayward glances &
   capricious charades razing
     death do us part illusions
   in finale's flimsy tissue shrouds

The gentlest of flowers
are constantly trampled
under heavy boots

Give her a pool of water
And she would re-enact
The dying moments of narcissus.

Cover all the mirrors
That she may see
The ugliness within

~

As I walk this path,
I draw the night sky
on my skin,
cosmic outlines,
embedded darkness,
the softest touch
of heart shaped ink,
and I imagine you
tracing a similar image,
caressing these dreams
while wishing upon
the brightest star
glistening above,
walking the same path
in your part of the world
drawing us closer together
with each moonlit step
*we take

Come into my hands
like a book.

My hands are strong,
have weathered decades,
will hold you tight.

Let them open you
to the right page,
the center of you.

Let me enter your story
and together we will
search your text
for meanings even
you don't know, yet.

We will write
unimagined chapters.

Cackle at the comedy;
weep at the tragedy.

We will read
each other's pasts,
guess what happens next.

We will find
the perfect passage
and know where
we belong
int the world.

At the tale's ******
we will explode
into a final
exclamation point!

If you only
come into my hands
like a book.