Tag Archives: word

Fickle is the realm of the heart

Fickle is the heart

joyous of a day

jealous of a star

balm of a tear

weary of a sigh

and yet I would not trade

its wisdom for all of the world

not a piece

not a fraction for

every certainty the Gods have to give

I will carry this fickle beast

within my chest

and let it journey me

through places near and far

let it teach me courage

and to be here

where you are

so be it

the whimsical mystery of

the ambrosia of life

so be it

so beat it

fickle be the heart

but in love

it, and I, shall remain.

I want to kiss you

I want to kiss you like there will be no tomorrow
like the stars will fall and the world stop spinning
I want to kiss you like the sun will reach out and melt our wings
be brave and fly to your lips anyway
I want to wrap myself in the very matter binding the smallest
part of you as if it is the only way I can stay together
I want to kiss you

Out of Rain

Out of rain

siping sliping slowly

across my face

catching salt

and lingering

memory, words

fall upon my heart.

With each beat

tripping tipping down

the curve of our soulsl

to find agril ground;

the only paper

to write upon.

and thus, poetry

tastes of bitter earth

and salty skies.

Serenading Aqua

Serenading aqua

running backwards over

blush hushed silences

in an effort to consume

the bitter silver sillohettes

of time left pretentiously

blue amoungst the flowerbeds

untendedly wild and verbose

leaning towards sunlight

tresses boldly defying shadow.

Font and Longing

I should write a word for you

with brilliant font and calligraphic meaning

Tantalize you with the think and thin of curvature

lead you on adventure with a trill

one word, one drop

one syllable to rest between your lips

and tease with the implications of my


If there was such a word it would be orange

with shades of red

edged in light and shadow

casting doubt o’r scandalous truth

a word to soar across oceans

pick grapes of favor and fill

senses with wine

intoxicating flow

drunk on flavor and

neglecting time.

I cannot breathe

for the lack of it

I cannot live for the

loss of it

and to paint it still would

be less of it

so I sit


for want of a word

and finding

only timid brine

meets my vision

a thousand miles

from the moonstone tresses

of your skin.