Love and you.

My first word and my last,
and everything in-between.
I shall love you,
and I shall love you most.
You are the centre of my world.
In this one and across the seven.
Our lives will as one,
together and eternal.
I shall love,
and I shall love most.

Begin again.

To begin again,
After a great fall.
From a height created,
by no another soul.

To start afresh,
after years of toil.
Invested time lost,
buried beneath the soil.

Dreaming with my back,
rested and comfortable.
Life and people passing by,
not one stopping to look.

Get up, Get out there,
Run along, together and far.
Grow, reach out and achieve.

I don't love you on those days...

I don't love you on all days.
I don't feel loved either.
Love, to me is transient.
It comes and goes in short pulses.
Like panic attacks in a crowded place.
I do not wake up wanting you,
I run away and hide when it hits.
Weakened and mortal,
I wait for it to pass.
I try harder on the normal days.
You don't understand that,
I don't feign my feelings,
Or tell you fancy things.
I just want to get through these troubled times,
hurting you less, wanting you less.
But I know how these things are.
They take control of you,
wrecks your defence,
warms your heart and finds your weakness.
I don't love you on those days.

And there are days I give in,
I let myself be wrecked,
I stop caring about the fire,
I wait for it to burn me down.
And I regret those days.
I want to hold you close,
Feel your warmth, touch your skin.
I lose control over myself.
I crave for you.
I tell you I'm not ready for love,
even when I'm filled with it.
I tell you to go away,
when all i want is to hold on.
I don't tell you I don't love you,
on those days.

Goodbye bee.

I wanted you. I longed for you.
Truly. Wholeheartedly. Honestly.
I wanted the whole of you. Every bit.
I wanted to make you smile.
And I wanted to make you mine.
You are that one memory..
I've played over and over again.
It gives me the shivers even now.
Thinking of that one moment in time.
How it could have gone.
And how it ended up being.
I know you felt it too. That one time.
And that's all it was. That one time.
Now I see you. And I don't.
I long for that feeling to return.
I hope against hope that you remember.
But I know you don't. Might never again.
Yet I gaze away from your eyes.
I'm afraid to show you my burning soul.
I will wait for it to burn down.
And the memories along with it.
I'll be broken again. Melted and cast.
But I'll be shinning on the outside.
And you wouldn't know.
I wished it was different this time. 

Marooned.

I loved only you,

And I have repeated these words,

every couple of years,

to beautiful people,

with selfish hearts.

I have raged battles with myself,

And they were all broken,
But i did go through lovers,
I loved them all,
These tides refuse to die down,

convoluted intricacies of this heart,

has made me a common fool

who falls in love at every chance

with beautiful broken souls,

with sharper edges and fresh wounds,

My delicate skin stood no chance,

My heart not even there.

Like changing seasons,

I floated anchor less,

from one love to another.

I offered them my soul,

a bit broken, a little bruised.

but i tried, with another hopeful smile

And I am back trying again.

this heart still craves,

for another broken soul

that completes this self, makes it whole

with the edges still sharp,

and the wounds forever fresh.

A Moonshine lust.

Under this blanket
And your spell.
Your naked skin,
Makes me want.
To roam free
On your body.
To touch every knot,
Inches apart.
To hold you tight,
With all my might.
Let me sleep,
On your bosom.
Let me feel,
All your warmth.
Let our bodies intertwine,
Hold on now
Yours against mine.

The Painter.

Her naked skin trembles beneath his touch. And he was touching it all. Each fold. Each knot. He took his time. He was trying to consume her through his fingers. His eyes closed. And his hands free.
He painted her first in his mind. He wanted to perfect that image before he put it on to the canvas.
He wanted to burn it inside his soul. And duplicate when needed.  He was the painter. She was his muse.

She had a home. A family. Children to look after. Chores to complete. What was she doing here? She asked herself this a million times. And she knew the answer. The gold was too hard to come by. And there was the harsh winter to get through.  She lay still while he roamed free.

He did not love her. It was not even lust. He admired the creation that was in front of him. Perfect in structure. The eyes. The lips. The face. He cut her across in every angle and saw symmetry. He knew this was the master painters greatest creation. And he knew it was a crime to try imitate the master.

And so she lay there. Each night. And he worshipped her. Each night.