Tell me why I'm confused by all the signs you're sending me
If I'm not even in love with you at all?
My mind is racing, with the thought of you.
Do you like me like I think you do?
And in this lonely hour, I really wish you did,
for you'd be the only one...

And than maybe I could be relieved.

(s.i)

So smooth and beautiful in their curve
Of iridescent wings that let them take flight
Softly resting their tangy feet on bright petals
How beautiful and intricate are they, a divine creation of nature
I have a confession to make, however, that oddly,
My heart breaks whenever I see a butterfly.
Oh butterfly, you are such a beautiful thing,
So innocent and beautiful a creature may be,
Minding your own business and floating around the air,
But yet, your beautiful presence or a sight of the lovely you,
Is a ***** to my heart I cannot remove.
Just like how he has so accurately stated
The everything that seems perfect is not true.
All that is beautiful, all that is fair,
Like you butterfly, and yet
My heart still hangs in despair.

The chains you wear around your heart are fastened tight,
You forbid the essence of love and compassion to enter,
You fear the inevitable and bitter sting of heartbreak,
But there is only so much you can hide before those chains will break.

The sudden rush of desire encases you,
Ensnaring the senses you have so cunningly controlled,
Can you feel it?
The stirring in your chest,
The flutter of butterflies in the cage beneath your skin,
The muscles in your stomach tensing as you control the peculiar feeling
Of something that you have alienated yourself from,
A foreign body that seems farther than the edges of the universe.

The chains around your heart have loosened,
And now you have embodied the embrace of love.

A seed grows
Where it falls

And at a
Ripe age

With leaves
It looks out

Sees other
Beds of earth

Where it might’ve
Taken root

But didn’t

It weeps autumn
Sighs through winter

And dreams of
Other soil again

Continuing to live - that is, repeat
A habit formed to get necessaries -
Is nearly always losing, or going without.
It varies.

This loss of interest, hair, and enterprise -
Ah, if the game were poker, yes,
You might discard them, draw a full house!
But it's chess.

And once you have walked the length of your mind, what
You command is clear as a lading-list.
Anything else must not, for you, be thought
To exist.

And what's the profit? Only that, in time,
We half-identify the blind impress
All our behavings bear, may trace it home.
But to confess,

On that green evening when our death begins,
Just what it was, is hardly satisfying,
Since it applied only to one man once,
And that one dying.

I've dated poets most of my life
So I could talk back and forth in rhyme

Sounds a bit  odd to some I know
But it helps with the conversations flow

That is where my mind is at
Poetry in every breath

Speak to me in hyperbole's
Sure fire way to get what you please

Sweet imagery entices me
Otherwise I may not have seen*

It helps to shine a different light
*When you date poets most of your life