The child in me still thought of the world as poetry,
but it never happens that way.
Since last few days , From time to time I sit down, and scrape my pen of my thoughts against the blank page in my mind, I think of the way you spoke my name , the day I first met you, or The way your lip gloss shimmered , Your hairs shine, the light reflecting of camera lens, Ahh... the feeling I get, looking back at all the time we spend together, walking in the park for miles lying on the grass watching squirrels ... the time just stopped whenever I was with you.. You were always beautiful in words, You were sweeter prettier in words, and I loved you more in worlds and words then I ever did anyone in real life. ...the only question I ask is why didn't you see in me, what I saw in you.
I've been missing a place,
and it's forever loyal aromas,
I remember the peacocks on the front lawn,
hiding , playing , flying and pecking at the ground,
I miss them, the ancient paintings,
the smell of smoke throughout the rooms,
packs of cigarettes and cases of wines,
poetry in the air,
I miss the thoughts exchanged with him and her,
on the side porch,
And the times when she will pull in the driveway,
lock up the gates,
When she'd walk through the doors,
when I awkwardly fell in love,
and I know there is no explanation needed,
for it's not a love of lust,
it's more like knowing in those moments,
that remembering them will feel,
just as intense and comfortable,
as our time spent was,
purple dreams floating in my mind.