She has this way about her
grace in her movements
Laughter in her eyes
Soft blonde waves
Upon her head
She makes you feel special
You want to know her
Her eyes captivate
Slightly nerdy (which I know you find cute)
My best friend

Can I really blame you for cheating?
She's beautiful inside and out

A harsh wind kisses my fingers into sleeping.
Blurring the movement on the toggles of an anorak,
But my eyes dart quick, oiled and fleeting,
searching for my beloved old salt, looking back.
Funny, how in those footprints,
the piercing night that bites the ears and cries
can feel as soft as sheets
washed in the light of the moon, pulled by the tide.

this darkness which surrounds us.
it makes the world one of thrashing silhouettes
And as the earth breathes in gusts
It gives calmness to a mind, to comfortably forget
this, lulled swoon of nature pulsating hits
the windows, we can't help to be animated.
we cannot be closed to it, cannot obscure it
the call of the waves that past fishermen created.

pausing, that sun-baked, sinuous arm rose
and peering through his cigarette smoke specters.
the steam of my own breathing, softly froze
As the sky illuminated my weary lenses.
the theatre of sky before us fight light polluted filling
My mind left wandering like waking sleep.
These gladiators of light bleed ochre from shining artillery,
Their particles drifting into the night's sea, so deep.
Sparks spat by suns lie suspended above me
held like dew in nets of celestial string.
as the sunlight comes peering through these
the intensity in a pinprick, unearthly passion within.
lancing the sky too are spears of my dreaming
as neon cobras strike and churn to flee.
these heaven-borne beings carving visual song
Cutting luminescent pathways into my memory.

The soundless iron giant is now still as a caryatid.
Holding me before that blacksmith showered light.
an artist plucks flaming dewdrops from the wind
illuminating my foray into this night.
I sensed a small piece of gene pierce his yang
a black taint to his overall brightness.
In my black yin a spark from him i hang
and I'm proud of the infections we posses.
As he narrates this landscape, he narrates himself.
a new side to a shape I felt I knew.
As far into feelings as his masculine paradigm delved
like a square’s seventh face, always hidden from view.

I stood at the sea edge
looking into the precipice
mud on my shoes
and a hole in my heart.

This time I asked for nothing
there were no more questions
as there were no more answers
of hope, I was, devoid.

I was already falling
air ripped from my lungs
numb of all emotion
good or bad.

I searched my heart for
something;
a rope,
a ladder,
a foothold.
Anything to once more
hold me to this life.

At first glance I found nothing.

And then Something
snagged,
a face full of pain,
of disappointment,
of grief.
An immovable object in
my current of life.

I couldn't leave her.

Of all others I thought nought.
But I could not, and would not,
abandon this one for the world.

You saved my life that night.

What do I choose?
Do I walk away?
Do I stay?
Do I disappear,
With out a trace?
Or do I stay and endure
The pain of distrust
Of secrets?
Do I care what they say?
Or do I stay as long as I can?
Until she rips our love away.
I must choose,
What I will do?

When there is nothing else to get behind
you can always shadow yourself
people tend to do the opposite
getting ahead
or was it letting go
the genuine wild bewilderment
of not being sure of which it is
to some tired existentialist
who says life is subjective
but wont tell you his reasons to live
that he lost in the pocket of a moment
that's got this hole in it
see, this is the way
he's lost so much change
scraping memories away
like quarters for ***** laundry
like toenail clippings after walking up and down Pirsig's mountain
who made right now
sustain the future like some ever-present purpose
amidst a world where going the against the grain
means your going in reverse
in this narrow street
that we've made of reality
by putting all your weight
behind one of two directions

At root,
isn't the aesthetic of symmetry
reason enough to come clean with beauty
who's righteousness is in her allure
The one thing hedons like me
can agree
exists
Of that I am guilty
beyond doubt
beyond reason, where there is seldom just one
beyond justice, where I can do beauty none
at the center
without any edges
where you may hear it calling
right now

Mine own selfish cares distract.
Perhaps making me, too late

I hear, I see you are in a place,
where questioning is the new normal.
You know there here be,
legions, armies of people,
whom you have touched, cored.
I am one,, who has floated on your river,
And was bettered for its cleansing.

Whatever it takes,
whatever I have,
beseech you,
beseech me!

Just sealed a letter babe
Been standing here waiting

For you

I'm wearing your favourite perfume
Did my hair just as you like it
I'm looking at  a pic of us
So happy -in love
I drop it
Daren't turn it over!
As I do
The shattered glass reflects my heart- my very soul
Broken I leave it there
I feel in unison with this sight so in that  split second "something makes sense"
I have written you a poem
The one occasion I did not want to write!!!
Don't know if I can read it aloud. For you I will try , I will
I've always loved writing , talking  ,     but not today
You used to joke " I always had  to have the last word"?
I see you arrive

Your in our lounge

I smile through my tears , "as in your once loving hand"
I place the letter I've written.  
You were  right  again!
As we drive to the church
I dread the ghostly silence
Reaching your last destination
I rise from my seat "I too feel I'm somewhere else"
As I speak
(I hope some how you can hear the truth) -the love -the passion -the beauty we shared
Our loves reflected in my poem I've written
And still today
As I post this
I know you'll be looking down
Smiling
She always has to have the last word
Here they are

I love you.