Those soft, delicate hands of yours

That once held me with such love and care

Wrapped me with such warmth and safety

That felt small and fragile when held by me

Those slender fingers fitting perfectly in mine

Tracing my face and lips with eagerness

Tapping me to wake up for a morning kiss

Caressing me for our nightly love

Those soft, delicate hands of yours

I can still feel them after all this time

Wishing that I held them a bit longer

is her favourite colour red?
Like a rose filled with passion and worth loving everyday
or she makes me bleed when I try to hold her
I notice that her hands are red
is it blood of her prior lover or just his kisses
can she ever be a rose of another colour
yellow, pink, white maybe? But then
If I held her then my blood would stain her beauty
now it blends in perfectly like a teardrop in rain
deeper the colour of her lips
for every stroke of petals she touches
but like wine for every passing year
she’ll just get better and better
is her favourite colour blue?
she brings my life out of the blue
like a sea I’ll never know everything about her
which makes me think all the time
and sometimes even dream about her
she is like a moon on a dark blue night
lighting up my life allowing me to see the stars
is her favourite colour green?
Like a leaf she inhales my sorrows and exhale love
she has the ability to change a simple caterpillar
into a colourful butterfly filled with so many colours
many of their names I don’t even know
every spring she is a new shade of green
watching her multiplying like hyacinth over my lake
is that all? No!
She might like white, pink or even exotics like gold
whatever she likes I know she will always colour up my life.

He may love the best parts of you
Just as much as I did
But I also treasured
The broken parts of you
The jagged pieces you feared
The shards you cut me with
He may love the best parts of you
But I loved all of you

At first, she blended with the crowd,
a quiet soul still finding her ground.
Maybe she’s trying to fit in
but something about her pulled me in.

Then I saw her, truly
bright, bold,
a quiet fire in the cold.
She stands in her own light,
aware of her worth,
unapologetically herself.

The way she speaks
soft, wise,
a voice that feels like peace.
And a smile...
like a morning sun,
cute, warm,
the kind you’d wait a lifetime to see.
When it’s missing,
the world forgets how to shine.

She is beauty in motion,
inside and out
like a magnolia in bloom,
gentle, strong, and caring too.

the precision of a shooting star
cuts capricorn from horn and hoof
unscabbard moon left half ajar
the surgeons light on retrograde roof

unspooling stitchings from toe to tooth
they seemed less loose from where we are
unzipping zodiacs with exsecting truth
black blood pooling in gods back yard