Poet

because sometimes we lust after a future relationship with someone even though it was never meant to be...

I don’t know your date of birth,

Or even if you were born.

Feelings think how brightness darkens

The cradles of your eternal dawn.

Sitting calmly confident, t’is your

Face that changes mine. Hands

and beats of drums, that bass,

Hips moving with the time.

Did that time exist, then, there?

Or is my fondness all warped up?

Surely ran did fingers through that hair,

Skins melting through the heart.

The rain fell hard, as did the lack 

Of words spoken over. Compatibility

was perhaps without, timing was a boulder.

If you still want to with interest find,

Present’s clock rolls below.

For your ears there are a tale or three,

We’d laugh into one entity. Words

Ruin this page easily, as perhaps you’ll

Never come to thee.

Let us soak up your fears aphotic , 

Giving more than enough to the creative.

No more of that! You allow you not to love,

or even to berate it. Less consumed you’d

Be by that which haunts you so. T’is ok to 

Want to write me, but be sure to do it quickly,

Though I shan't reply you promptly… T’is in you 

To get use’t me.

This writer pens in hope of intellect ever great.

You said one morning, sun on face. ‘In destiny 

Do you believe?’ It was there my heart sold

Deeds to fate. Steer me there dark angel, this 

Magic wears not a sleeve.