I am filled time and again with a heart-aching wonder when I think of the fire and frost of memories of the everlastingness of love the solace of family and the power of prayer.
we always knew that good times came with termination contracts even if we weren't quite ready to sign it.
there is some aching that will only heal... in the mosque of sleep.
leave me some music that’s chocolate for the heart.
how these words, wait to die in the arms of all the poetry.. yet to be written.
there have been mornings so quiet and tender like a poem, on Thursday's lips that I wondered if I'd been kissed at all...
some winters will never melt some summers we’ll never freeze and some things will only ... live in poems.
and the afterglow... of your gaze...is the only sweater that I need.
for those memories are now just like these little kittens I hold in my hands those can be kissed and treasured but not held too tightly.
Love, be mystical as the flickering blue flame of night as the fully-awoken moon beneath cobwebs of passing clouds amidst chanting high-tides fuzzy, as my blanket big enough to illuminate a hundred thousand billion galaxies and just small enough to f...
i want to stay curled and cosied and chocolated....forever in my mother’s arms.
i will forever be colliding with a billion unnamed undiscovered stars, each of us on our own orbital paths.
there are some poems that we leave behind some that leave us behind while some just live silently in the heart crumble, sometimes dwindle disappear die and are reborn when you smile again.
it is to be savored like a seabreeze-whispered dream...in the mysterious blue minutes before dawn like a secret infatuation.... like slow languorous sips of green tea... like a lingering glimpse a self-wrapped paradise like his name upon my lips.
This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms. only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.
give me a pillow of strong ever-dependable shoulders that i can bury my head in.
leave me a smile just warm enough... to spend a million golden afternoons in.
I blink January’s lashes and gush down December’s cheeks
I live there... where the birds are infinite everywhere where they flee it's a place your eyes can wander but never see Where everyone accepts me, Without any pretense It's a place your mind can picture but never really comprehend.
How....will I ever truly depict you? You’re perfect, my writing isn’t.
what is more beautiful tears, in someone’s eyes for me or in my eyes for them.
