I am a baby, I am a child, I am the innocent wonder in my eyes I am a glimpse, I am a sign, of someone I can be, someone I might I am not...

Maybe life is all about twirling under one of those midnight skies, cutting a swathe through the breeze and gently closing your eyes.

I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those…soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.

love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers

i am eithera stormor a drought.in-betweenshave neverbeen my thing.

love canembellish its beginningsing its blossomingand engrave its eternitiesbut can never explain its loss.

Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.

this heart yearns…for the salt of unsmelt airunswept thunderstorms…unknown adventures.

the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.

to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone’s eyes.

funny how our heartswere designed to loveso fiercely.but break ever so gently.

because some thingssometimesaren’t ours to hold,but just beautiful to listen to.

a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand;but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon,when I don’t know, if you will ever come...

As the sky prepares to settle its tired, aching feetinto the night’s velvet slippersI settle, into my armchair, soaking the teabag,of my thoughts, into warm liquidy stars.

we are all like poems. some of us rhyme. some don’t. some are Pulitzer prizessome are just scribblesand yet, we all possessa special kind of beautythat can either heal or cut to the boneone that...

may this poetrybe the homeyou will someday come back to.

i am infinitely yearningbrimmingand overflowingin wordsi discoverit’s another wayfor meto be in tears.

tell meof something fiercer than the love with which i gaze upon youof something softer than the tendernesswith which i hold you.

I live there…Far above the song-filled clouds,where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.

I am filled time and againwith a heart-aching wonder when I thinkof the fireand frost of memoriesof the everlastingnessof lovethe solace of familyand the power of prayer.

my lovefor youwill always belike a mountain stream.quiet. persistent. continuous.

in the afterglowof an evening raini lay downin the grass and think of youmy body acheslike an after-kissbreaking in soft firesand wildflowersmy dear, i will always bethis tender for you.

some winterswill never meltsome summerswe’ll never freezeand some things will only… live in poems.

If I’m not around I hope you’ll remember me and together we will hold on to our favorite song.

When I write…I am in the fond armsof a childhood friendupon whose colorful heart I can hang the charcoal drawingsof my woes.

kisses… areand always will be the only language that I will have ever truly known.

When it comes to lovedo not eversettle for anythingless than magical.

I live there…where the birds are infiniteeverywherewhere they fleeit’s a place your eyes can wanderbut never seeWhere everyone accepts me,Without any pretenseIt’s a place your mind can picturebut never really comprehend.

the onewho will jolt awakeall the unwrittenthe unsungand the unlived in me. i am waitingfor him.

kisses happenwhen my morning blueberry muffin sails slowly upon my savoring tongue.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too,have been bruised…by beauty.

how is it thathe’s alwaysin my thoughts. even when i am not thinking.

poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.

Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.

give mea pillow of strongever-dependable shouldersthat i can bury my head in.

when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.

kisses explode when… someone believes in me when my heart cries out a song of thanks to yours.

love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.

may my faith always beat the end of the daylike a hummingbird…returningto its favorite flower.

The most beautiful, amazing and inevitable fact about life- Everything has a natural healing process.

I realizedJune had never beenjust a monthmusic…never just a trembleon my lipswarmth was nevermerely a blanket.

sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.

i immersemyselfin youlikei immerse myselfinto a beautiful story.

You touched my heart…ever so softlyand I realizedtears had never been…merely saltand the rainOh the Rain!had never been merely water.

let me diefrom having being drunk onindigo skies, my liver…overflowing with stars.

your smile.is the ultimategolden dream.all the poemsin the worldare waking up from.

How….will I ever truly depict you?You’re perfect, my writing isn’t.

violent storms. and beautiful smiles. both have electricity. both are equally destructive in nature.

the mostbeautiful tideis the sweepof your heartagainst mine.

wordslike mysterious mermaids come and live permanentlyin the soft sweepsand scars of my skin.