love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers
i am eithera stormor a drought.in-betweenshave neverbeen my thing.
Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.
the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.
may this poetrybe the homeyou will someday come back to.
When it comes to lovedo not eversettle for anythingless than magical.
how is it thathe’s alwaysin my thoughts. even when i am not thinking.
Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.
when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.
love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.
sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.
i immersemyselfin youlikei immerse myselfinto a beautiful story.
How….will I ever truly depict you?You’re perfect, my writing isn’t.
the mostbeautiful tideis the sweepof your heartagainst mine.