I lay here
In bed
Bathed in soft orange light
Thinking of you
And your phantom
Touch
And the tears that sting
My eyes when I think
Of you
And your soft, golden skin
And the pale amber that bathes my walls
And my face
And spills into the night
At 2 A.M. when I’m cold
And pulling
The rich velvet
Blanket of your laugh
Up to my chin
In the dark.

I like how our hands seem to have their own
conversations, apart from our mouths.
I like how we tell things we can't seem to say out loud.
In these spaces between,
Our fingers meet and they fit.
Perfectly.
No walls, no secrets

I like how our hands know how to be together
In times we can't seem to.

Not a man of so much confidence
But I have to say this now,
of all the smiles I've seen on earth
Your smile is more than others worth

I'm not a man who’ve seen other worlds
But I've seen more in your eyes
That brought me into the beautiful skies
Even though we revolve in different worlds
That finds us a new environment
I'd still choose you more

Not a man of material things,
But I'll give you all I've got
No expensive gifts nor shoes to give
But all I could give you is my entire heart

I'm not a man with so much confidence
Getting to the point that I can't tell u the words of how I feel, but,
I'll express them on my paper
I'll write them for you to understand
What I feel for you inside.

if you are the poetry
You'll be the words that
ryhmes to the beat
of my heart.

I met a check-out chick the other day,
I asked how was her New Year's Day, okay,
She said she had a dreadful New Year's Day.
Her boyfriend battling bushfires with the CFA,
He had never been so far away,
What on earth could I say?
Our firies are like superheroes today,
Right there with Superman, okay?
Would you give them a salary or lunch money? Hey,
They don't do it for the money, okay?
Well, give them all a gold medal,  I say,
When these bushfires are gone one day,
Chats about our firies everywhere these days!

‘rabbit hearted’, my friends say.
they nod, all agree.
my muscle, they know, beats fast,
thud thud thud against its small cage
whenever i’m about to do
something incredibly stupid
that will put everyone in sticky situations.
‘sticky’, they say, ‘is a funny word’,
as my shoes are, they laugh,
‘glued like bubblegum to trouble’.
my old shoes, i stare at them and hum,
have seen a lot of bubblegum,
that much is true.
and my friends, they’re *******,
they smile bright at me, they cackle and sing.
‘don’t you think’, they joke like they always do,
‘that your head is the troubling part?’
so i sigh, and ask why like i always do.
they say, ‘your head comes with malfunctioning brakes, mate.’
so i think, maybe, rabbit hearted as i might be, the impossible chimera that ignites my every move must be a lion, or something that roars just as loud, with no shoes at all.
but in the end, all i say is ‘i can’t drive anyway’.
at least my friends laugh.

I crave
The smell of old books,
The aroma of coffee shops,
The touch of the rain
And the feel of the sun on my face

Deep conversations
About the meaning of our purpose
Discovering ourselves
Uncovering ourselves
From all our disguises
And fake faces

I want the truth
The feeling of true connection,
with compassionate eyes
That understand mine.

The feeling of the earth
With my bare feet

I will open up and tear myself apart
Pour myself over
Like a cup of tea
To find my sweet.

It will be worth it