Spark

 Why do you look so lost, my love?
Sitting here by the piano, all alone.

Playing a song about somebody who you knew.
Or is it about somebody new?

Broken nails on broken keys,
playing a broken tune.

Under a broken moon-
The light plays with your hair
blue-black.

Tired leaf,
waiting for Spring.
.
Waiting for blossom and
rain and green weather
to begin-
 But there is still time...

Be careful.

The difference between a flame and a fire -
is but one spark.

Suppress it, lest you get burnt.

There.

Stutter and stammer and sputter and mutter
the pathetic  stream of words you will never write down again.
Warm them with your breath as they spin out of your  head.
Web-like, fragile, transient.
It’s been awhile and the roses are dead now.
But it was real,
the dirt under your fingernails
remind you of the muck
that was once what you revelled in-
Black rain and fingertips throbbing inside you
and , and cinnamon- because that’s good, good stuff.
Hair that smelled of smoke and blinded you in one eye
and the cold weight that rose in your stomach as you watched the last one die.
You hardly talk about yourself anymore these days but that’s okay.
The stars have lost their scars and all you see is white light,
burning back tears that never fell
that last night and your memory dwells ambiguosly, selectively on …
But No.
Play it safe now.
We don’t want the world to know.
(Oops. Too late).

A little fun.

'Wet stars in the sky,
Moonshine in your eye...'
 these are some things I like
 to write about-
but tonight I feel light-headed
and this leaves me with shredded
 hopes and sleepless doubts.
As you are reading
 the words I am weaving
you might hear a rhyme somewhere.
Don't be alarmed
 as there is no harm-
nor is it a crime
 to write like this.
I think I am done
with my fair share of fun
and pleased with the outcome
of this experiment.
And here I will cease
my weird strategy
of 3 a.m entertainment.

Hello 3 a.m. It's been awhile.

They ripped me apart, tore into my heart and laughed as I watched them helplessly.
There are certain things you do for love and then there things you do because you don't love yourself.
The last few months have had me on my knees, in the dirt, on my back and finally underground.
But now I'm alive again.
Rebirth is painful.
Something like an internship- an actual place where I do something I'm good at.
Making mistakes and learning.
Growing.
Unexpected things happen once in awhile.
Seldom do they turn out good.
Meeting you was one of those rare things that took a turn for the better.
1437.
I should have known.
As a person, I have a hundred problems with you.
But as a friend I have none.
As someone who loves me, I just have one- which is that:
It's too bad love doesn't last
 because I could have gotten used to having you around longer.
Still, we're gonna make the most of this.
:-)
Thank you for being you.

Back.

Brush the hair from my eyes,
Crush the yellow petals under your fair toes,
Come back to me my love.
Let me lay myself on you tonight.
The air is scented with your breath and I wish to feel your mouth on mine again.
Come back to me my love.
The rains are annoyed because you betrayed them too-
their wetness means nothing without a bit of you
melted in each drop of their sweetness
that I allow to trickle down my lonely breasts.
Come back to me because
the first time in a long time
I miss someone.
Let this feeling not go in vain.
(Too many loves have turned to pain).
Come back to me my love
and let me rest my head on your bare shoulder-
caressing your moist palms with my fingertips in small circles.
Round and round and round.
Come back to me
 before I forget the way
your eyes looked at me the day
you let me kiss your virgin skin.
Come back
before I learn to be stronger without you
my love.