You cannot force the words out in a poem,
any more so than you can force someone...
I am the lost art amongst a
sea of authors...
I once
had a dream...
I saw Mrs Fields
reach for the sun with her eyes...
I see with eyes closed
imagined colours...
I see the sun it feels so warm, lighting up my...
I feel the sand under my feet, so warm with it's...
Don't leave her.
Separation is not freedom...
I never wanted to be the sun
but surely enough...
The blankness of canvases and silence of papers
pouring over horizons...
Waltzing
we poured...
Lets conspire with this pavement
against our distances...
she places the lit end of her cigarette against...
eyes welling up...