Quiet meal, just the two of us
is something we still like to share.
It’s always easier to be ourselves
When no one else is there.

Slow dance, is still our favourite dance.
you and I together, me holding you near.
While you listen as I softly whisper
words of love in your ear.

Gentle passion, that’s how we want it
when you share your love with me.
Still romantic and always tender.
That’s how we like it to be.

Sometimes it feels like the pulsing energy of the sun
Other times there is barely a spark
Or is it really a rotation of night and day

Where does it go, where does it go?

I feel the flow from head to toe
Yet it passes in time, as if I were dead
Is it life or is it death

Where does it go, where does it go?

Sometimes it’s one, at times it’s two
Or can two be like one
Then what of two in simple repose

Where does it go, where does it go?

.
poetry
...a poem
and now the world is changed
'tis true
but, do not concern yourself

the flutter of a butterfly's wings
may induce a hurricane
half-way 'round the world

the butterfly is not
mindful of such
nor should the poet be

flutter your dance
and dance your flutter
to the next alluring flower

best speak no more of this

emasse
in the paradise of fault
the image is full of shadows
and ghosts like a negative
repeater shot

how I long for the brightness
and everyone says I have to
belong
and If I stay an outsider
in the quiet at the edge
where I can watch the stars

point your finger but theres space
now and I dont feel the bruise
on my chest

I still look up and let the snow fall
on my closed eyes
I can still reach that beauty
in a breath