Sense is the seeing, believing, the touching, tasting, the being
The slopes that rise and fall With our breath between them Are a sihloutte of green hips On the horizon: Suspended across the skies In an effortless sprawl, They are wild thighs To the wondering mind As a pen is to paper The incarnation of daydreams.
Becoming every colour can leave us gray, when the lights go down
Are these clothes the colour of my insides? Are yours?
The lavender whispers That relief is long overdue, And listens to the fears that fester in my fingertips Illuminating, In their ill disposition, A denial of the dreams that sit within the willow trees. Tickled by the sorrow, only, Of our weeping limbs, The plant supposes All of us that make sights with pens Will […]
Lines are comprised of the silences in letters And say more (It seems) Than the screams of obsolete profanity I steal them And they love me for the sweetness of manipulation’s lullaby If waterfalls could whisper away the fallacy of words I would wait for rain each day And soak in the reality of translucence […]