Lacing tiny glass shreds of love,
you kiss and clip my wings,
my heart, a frightened blue bird
struggles and tries, but can never really forget to fly,
it seems for more than her own good
she had tasted the infinite sky.

Sometimes, just sometimes,

I wonder if you are a misplaced dream,

plucked from another's garden

for me to have a moment's whiff of fragrance.

On other times I banish thoughts,

and guile myself into thinking

that happiness could be had and deserved 

even in your proportions.

I must have held other hands,

kissed other lips,

my eyes must have held dreams of another,

I must have walked on these paths and known it by heart,

but today these alleys have become strangers.

If I had known love,

I have forgotten,

for in your hands

i am born anew,

and in your love

i rise again and again

as if death had never visited.

I dip my toes into

his eyes,

those pools

sage serene,

stirring for something,
perhaps a rasp of our breaths
like the wings of dragonflies 
scissoring through this metal frisson.

I am tempted to dive in

and make known my fears,

But instead I sit there beside him,

staring at the sky,

for a clearing of throat,

for a rumble

of rain

to pour down secrets on to my love's skin.

Those nights that smell of silence,
when strangers wallow between my secrets
and words bed their cruelest friends,
when I mother in dangerous succession
skeptical truths and lifeless living,
when I wear the laughter of fear
with its thickening clouds,
and my dreams migrate from unknown to unknown,
broken only in sweat and
unsought flapping of clipped wings,
its guilt, its protest,
when I am lonelier than this night,
when I am the darkness of its wine,
its dissolving inebriety,
its excluding insatiety,

those sick sick times

I seek you,

those bastard hopes, 

brutal bruises

fathered by anonymous love.

He once told me,
Life is not a two line poem you write
If I write such a poem,
will I title it as love?

Is Love a strange balance in equilibrium?,
Will one heart sink
when happiness is tipped more on the other?
then,
Is Love misery in equal measure?

What we called love,
was nothing more than
a holding of hands
in defence against
a world where it is an offence to be lonely or alone.
How easily we slipped out of
our interlinking chains
when the world shifted its glance
and sought
others to blame.

Still as lonely, Still as alone
we prise open smiles,
just in case in passing
they turn and look over their shoulders.