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

i writebecauseit is the only wayi can reach you.

Wordsare powerfulforces of nature.they are destruction.they are nourishment. they are flesh. they are water.they are flowers and bone.they burn. they cleansethey erase. they etch. they can eitherleave youfeelinghomelessor brimmingwith home.

Not words. nor laughter. but rather someonewho will fall in lovewith your silence.

Whatever you get out of poetry - take it. take it. take it. Words are better off felt than understood.

i am alwaysstalking you, my dear. with my thoughtsmy words.my breath.

How strange and ironic it is- all the words i long to sayare lost in words.

in the endit is wordspoetry. sunsetssomeone’s deep blue silk voice.mountain scents.someone’s smile.eyes. that we haveno defenses against.

my dear, I have nothing to say.my heart burns like the evening sky.