If love was

 

If love was only

a fleeting feeling,

would it really feel

like a heart stopping,

or like time has ceased

to mean a thing?

Or would it be

the feeling of a hurricane

blowing you off your feet,

sweeping you up in its hands,

and lifting you into space

to feel the enormity of its

touch?

 

If love had a colour,

would it be red or would

it shed the restraints

of our spectrum

and paint itself

in stardust

instead?

Would it flow over the canvas

In liquid state, or like

life growing across

a world reborn in its wake?

 

If love was a place,

would it be a land, a continent,

or the oceans and lakes in between?

Would it tower like

the mountains

upon which we stand, or would it be

the clouds that hold

those mountains in hand?

 

Or would it be the way

you place your hand on my heart

taking a beat and conjuring

butterflies in its place,

and as I feel them bursting to life,

is this the feeling

of love starting to thrive

because love is alive?

 

If love had a name would

it be written in cursive script,

would the ink drip

across the page

in the silken fluid motion

of a waterfall washing down

the stones below,

Or would it be torn right

from the pages, ripped from

the stars and screamed

with the passion

of every burning flame?

 

And if love had a name,

then would it be yours?

You are my home

 

And those lush

green fields

hold so much beauty.

Where a rose grows free,

wild and pretty, 

and I'll hold its petals

forever with me, hand in hand,

held close to my heart

until time ceases to be.

 

But I miss you more.

 

You are the sand

to my shore,

the key to unlock

so many locked thoughts,

the love that has

filled my heart

since I first swooned

upon your floor and

looked into those

glorious fields of your mind,

the flowing irises

showing where the forever skies

meet the eternal highs of a love

that can only ever rise.

 

My heart belongs

to these streets,

and my feet

will always dance

with more fluidity

when you are near to me,

when away

time ticks

 

slowly.

 

And I watch

the fading sunlight

casting shadows

across the emboldened rain.

Dancing little pirouettes

to wave me on my journey.

 

And I wave back,

a smile laying on my lips,

ready to rise when I see familiar skies

 

But already

my mind is flat out.

Running,

as the rain pelts my face.

The towering buildings,

sweeping past, as puddles

splash at my feet.

And the rain-soaked concrete

feels comforting,

the granite slabs of paving,

the awning sky looming

in thunderstruck passion.

 

For my clouds only desire

Your skies, and

I wish to spend my days

walking with you here,

Lost in your hypnotising eyes

for you are the magic

that casts spells in my soul,

and I am the words they spell.

I love you with every web

of life we weave.

I'll weather any storms if it

means I'll stay with you here

for a lifetime at least.

For home is the seat

which holds me tight,

keeps me grounded

where the heart resides.

Like an ocean to a tide.

Workings of my head

 

Step inside the workings of my head.

The recesses of the mind. Please be

aware in this playground

normal rules may not apply,

and that what you find, may

not always be as it appears.

See that cake over there?

It's a lie told to me in another life.

A portal unto another time.

 

The memory holes in the ground

will suck you up before throwing you down.

Staircases lead to nowhere, or back here,

an Escher merry-go-round of ups and downs,

complete with warping disconnected floorboards.

Abstract geometry painted

in dream colour chalk waterfalls.

 

Things are odd, even the numbers

are all jumbled. Over by the far wall,

memories are embedded, like alien phone

numbers, no longer connected,

no one left to call.

Stumbled moments of mumbled words,

replay over and over. Like answer phone

messages to nobody at all.

 

In that corner, fumbled reminders of love,

some names buried, dug up and buried again.

A few dates, a cabinet of heartfelt kisses,

and a shelf of lost wishes plucked from the stars.

 

Whatever you do, I ask you,

do not take that path over there,

down past the signs of past accomplishment.

Reality went a bit askew, and

it is still repairing itself piece by piece.

See, this place makes little sense,

it's a maze of nonsense. Amazed

it still stands if I'm being honest.

 

Over on the book-lined wall, I keep

my pain and the charts of all

the weight I carry in my heart.

Upon the table with the crooked legs,

an open book, filled with untold knowledge.

Only the handwriting is unreadable,

so the ledger is pretty much garbage.

 

Listen closely and you may hear

old emotions playing in the airwaves,

long-forgotten song lyrics of every

love heart caught and sewn

into the fabric of time. Every smile sought,

and every smile that sought mine.

Every tear wrung out in a chiming chorus.

 

In the room to the left you will find walls,

many walls. Built to withstand

any incoming emotional trauma.

 

Down beside the fireplace

my cat of inspiration sits meowing,

pleading with me to dig into the forest

gathering sunlight outside my window.

And the birdsong calls the dawn's awakening,

as the condensation from my tea of harmony

mists the windows.