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

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

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

in a worldfull oftemporary thingsyou area perpetual feeling.

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 back.

i want to be in love with youthe same wayi am in love with the moonwith the lightshiningout of its soul.

To fall in love with someone's thoughts - the most intimate, splendid romance.

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

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.