Her

Even the trees
Bow on the off chance
Your touch
Might graze their fingertips
By mistake

Good Enough

I realized I had to stop
Walking with my hand
Out stretched
When you started
Holding my heart
So lightly
Like it no longer
Deserved
Your touch

Innocence

Leaping over Chairs
And under Tables
Building forts
Crafting fables
Beneath layers
Of warm blankets

Boketto

Where are you
My esoteric bel-esprit?

Resentments

In return
I found thrusted
Into open arms
This muddled
Sharp and
Rusting thing

Human

Highways flooded by ominous silences
Mirrored by plastic guidances
Hyphenated and asteraited
Always under strained
And never content

Torn

That a waterfall
Of left over bread
Half eaten breakfast
Silent resentments
Hands held all too lightly
Or a simple pause in responce
Just start to gush out