You are not here
Really
You are not there

You look up at me
From your bed of rain

Wandering
Waiting

For the clouds to drift again

I disown all of this
All of me

I am not mine.
I am here, there

It’s all the same, really…

Waiting quietly
For your response

You possess the truth
My truth

The truth of my soul
Locked away

Lonely

Lying in wait
The ties that bind

Are broken

Forever lost among the wind

And you still wait for me
A passion…
The passion
Here to pass the time?

You look at me
The way you always do

The way you always have
Longingly yet lonely

What do you dream in your
bed of rain?

Chaotic starscapes perhaps?

I surrendered myself
Disowned myself

A long, long time ago
You were there dearest

The way you always were

Pulling me
Towards

The edge
Pulling me
Towards Eternity


I walk among the roses
And drown in my passions
Soon to escape me
And float into the mystic
Surrealism

What would it take
To lean you over the balcony?
To whisper to the stars?

I desire your passions
To be poured out upon me
Fall on me dearest
Crash onto my soul

Configurations
Of a soul
My soul

Your soul
The passionate longing to be
Dispassionate

Lost

The clouds come to deliver me
To the point of no return
The cliff face
And rocky canyon
Floor

Harbor your bed of rain
And there you are

Waiting
Your body is covered with words
My words

My black fountain pen words
Clinging to you?

What if I am more than
Just a fleeting passion?

More than a time-killer
Fighting murderless time?

Would you let me go?
Only to wander depressed
And utterly
desolate?