There’s this you in you
merging wide into the infinity
and seeping deep into the infinitesimal,
from your immutable stillness watching
the phenomenal you
in a very hot turmoil—

He looks me in the face smiling. 
I listen to him—his words,
like clean pebbles, tangible.
The thundersquall subsides outside
and a quiet creeps into the room,
snuggling for warmth.

From a leak in the roof drips rain water
into a copper ***.

I listen to him—his words,
like clean pebbles, tangible.

I dislike Spring pruning
All those dead branches that must be stripped
To bear good fruit, so necessary
I’m no Master Gardener
I’ve made mistakes before, confused
Choosing which ones to cut away
Which ones I should let stay
Make no mistake
With proper pruning the Springtime sun
Magnificently promises
Seemingly spent branches
Flowing silently, secretly with new sap
New buds, fresh leaves and blossoms
And delectable new fruit
Fruit so succulent
Better because of the pruning
May I cut away the dead branches of my life
And may I not mind the pruning
Waiting for the Master Gardener’s promise

I have met many people
But no one like you
Each and every day
You make me feel brand new

Your eyes are like fireflies in the dark
They shine so bright emitting the light of love
Sometimes i feel like...
...you are an angel sent from above

Your lips are as red as rose
Your hair blacker than the darkest night
When the moonlight shines upon you
Oh!....you're quite the sight

You arouse my soul
Complete me on the whole
Your love is so strong...
...that with it by my side
I can never do any wrong

Falling leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain where
lies the lost loved one it grieves;;

Time and wind tug on the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
no one comes visit but weather and me
and the dead lying under the trees

have stories nobody can read.

Sweet as honey.
Salty as the sea.
Pure like nature.
The love you
feel for me.
One last kiss.
Before night turns
into morning bliss.

Sometimes tears just don't happen.
Sometimes you feel your soul crack like glass
And watch the pieces fall in glittery shards
To a floor that's as unforgiving as those who made you this way.

How do you like
To stand in the
Frosty meadow

Minding the free air
Portions penetrate
Your dim auroras

From the laced sit
Of your Hollander
Cold icicles grow

As your gazes
Melt and meet
Barzoi and me.

Walking around
In the morning
Sun. You-stand!