She was fruity,
     subtle aromas
fermented from her.

Watering her own garden.
                 but never letting
other taste her fruits.

Even though she was seeded
           with much delicate tastes
no other would pick upon them.

She wasn't *****,
        wanting the right person
to pick her seed and let it blossom.

He lets me place my hands on his cheeks
and what I mean by that is
he doesn't hit me when I bother him with my affection
He lets me travel my hands gently to his chest
during my slow and careful inspection
It starts with them trembling against the scruff on his cheeks
He says he needs to shave
I say he needs to let it grow
I run my fingers across the peaks of his eyebrows
He relaxes his tense muscles slowly under my touch
I feel an influx of emotions as I begin to understand
This man loves me
I'm tracing every inch of him into my brain
Because love like this can never be attained twice
The way he lets me be myself is something I am unaccustomed to
It is something which I am still adjusting to
My hands become more confident
They explore his arms, the ones that hold me
He holds me delicately as if I am a paper bird
And he does not wish to crumple or fold me
I tell him I am not fragile
He says he is aware
He says he knows how much I like it
when he pulls my hair
I ignore his sly comment and continue my journey
Whoever came before does not concern me
I know I am his
I am comfortable in this

The soft and delicate kindness
shining so bright in the darkness
as though it was the moonlight
calming all the sadness.

Kindness,
seeping through smiles
traveling miles,
as though it were the moonlight.

Kindness,
the one mistaken as weakness
when it is actually the fiery courage,
that wraps one soul like a blanket.

Kindness,
the reflection of the magnanimity of ones soul
and compassion in their action.

- Beautiful Sensitive Soul

It was red sand
Dripping through my fingers
Landing on my orange dress

I had been working with clay
Now my hands have grown
To be sensitive and alive

I press my hands against wooden fences as I walk
And to the tree's bark
Rough, under my, now delicate, palms

It was so new
I was feeling something real
For the first time

Clay had become my addiction
Something I could feel and sculpt
With a clear mind

I felt every grain of red sand
Drip through my fingers
And land on my course, orange dress

A true lady of mid-twentieth century perfection,
Everything about her is prim and proper:
Her soft skirt, baby blue and fresh from tea,
Her pristine blouse, white lace and tickling the neck,
Hands folded in her lap and angled to heaven.
No one would know.
She isn’t fresh from tea with Mother and Grandmother
She’s fresh from playing fast and loose
With three dead men.
She is perfection for a young lady
And ideal for a murderer
Because you’d never know what lies beneath what you see.

She is  a girl
She is lily of the valley
She is delicacy of the fields
Come close to her
She is moving gradually in the wind
There is slight noise around her  ........

Hey  !!! move slowly
Reduce your speed she will be scared
. she will be fade .

Come closer to her
Listen she is reducing her voice
Hidding something  
She is scary of us
The wind is  blowing faster
She is fighting
And she is trying so harder

Listen ...
She is not leting us to know her
The noise arises
Again wind blows
There she bents
Come closer
She will be scared
The air blows again
Its hard to bear
She stopes

Feel....
Its so fragile
Her fragrance is going so far
There every secret opens
All has been revealed
Her fumes goes in everyone breaths
She died there
......
Shhhh
She was a girl

The traits you once considered d e l i c a t  e
Are now traits I should e r a d i c a t e
As you r u i n e d aspects of myself I didn't even know existed
As you brought to the surface
A yearning d e p e n d e n c e
As our soul intertwined,
As your path met with m i n e
I got caught up in the midst
Of the combination of our substance
And in the midst of it a l l ,
I l o s t a sense of myself.