rss feed!
e-mail me!

my body is a temple

I once had a poem

about a dream

which was the answer to -

what kind of poem would be an answer to this question?


shadows are effortless -

how are we doing?

who you are

"I hate myself" -

who is hating

and who is being

I don't get it.


if the world was a whisper
(in French)
and the sound of waves
the sand
if a pebble was a mother

then I would love a thousand roses
every time you kissed goodbye
and every time I fall in love with you

you are beautiful

because of a rose I can't smell
because the clouds turned from grey

into blue
and I heard you say

(in French)

can I have a word with you?

a word is a word
and it points to something
that isn't a word

a word is
a word

(the only word to be a word)

for love
is not a word

it's the little kisses

that like a gentle breeze
caress your eyes

a smile that once

and said everything

by moving oh so little

the same smile
that fills your breath

with such stillness

and you move

you touch

what used to be
a falling leaf

(the last falling leaf)

the end of a whisper

of time -

love is now

a word
was when you read it

and like a little stream

it runs down your cheek

the same cheek
I once kissed


but watch my words



the fleeting sensation

of a thought flying out of the window

leaving behind
a tingling body

and freeing, perhaps

a little space

so I




yeah, duh?

chess is not just about making a legal move.
life is not just about

Template by Themes Blogger