For Lovers Only

For Lovers Only

Wednesday, 30 July 2014

Time Waits...

Tears are plenty, but my eyes are dry.
They follow me, but I've lost my way.
I tempt tomorrow with a kiss,
Hoping to provoke some promise.
But the water comes up to my lips and my hearts last beats fade out.

Everything's calm in the black.
I'm weightless, a feather in time,
I float just right.

Monday, 2 June 2014

The End of Night...

Ink stains the page as thin air encloses me in a suffocating moment. 
There's a black hole nearby and its danger is tempting.
I'm awash with fear, that's so unfamiliar, about a future that's so far behind. 
I'll never walk backwards, but in front I'm alone, although, really I was always alone, I just tricked myself into believing you were beside me. 
So I wander, terrified, at the end of night, realising with humility I've figured it all out. 

Wednesday, 19 March 2014


The world lives in black and white but the moon still falls asleep outside my window, its yellow glow coating my eyelids, causing me to dream sweet dreams of you. I wish you would wake up and play, we're not finished yet, we never were.

Little Red Flowers...

Today was born by yesterday and tomorrow pushing together in a field of little red flowers. The orange sunset, remnants of those flowers crushed in the chaos. Forever I wanted to write a story, and traveled to the edge of night, there it was, its faint heart still beating awaiting my breath of life. 

The Moment Between Days...

The beginning of tomorrow waits for a sign that I'm coming through, but I'm not sure if I am.
It seems easier to stay here and let the darkness of the closing day engulf me. Yesterday has already finished and it wasn't that bad, so maybe I'll wait there for you to find me. It feels safer than the dawn, with its raging furious colours and the uncertainty that their fading pattern leaves behind. 

Monday, 17 February 2014

Searching for Tomorrow...

We take notes between days, to write stories about months, so we may feel better about our years.
Puddles of night hang below these eyes, loose skin cushions these fingers where this pen used to leave a mark.
Time, as though a leaf blowing away, a blanket left in yesterday.
I don’t mind when I close my eyes, the restlessness has left making way for the rattle of new air passing through old lungs.
We fear the end because we don’t know what it looks like and we stopped reading the book a long time ago.
The sunset as though a reminder of our youth, passionately kissing the horizon, seeking the adventures that rest on the bend of the Earth.
The dawn a mirror of regret for the nights before, reflecting promise for the days that lay ahead.
That magic, that pot of gold hides in the seconds, between the moments we get caught up in. A look of love between to harsh words, the last breath of life in a dying verse.
Without reason or entry.
Young with lines of age, aged with mannerisms of the young. 

Sunday, 5 January 2014

Between Breaths...

Before every moment is a moment.
The forest is thick, but I can see the stars eyes watching over me, between the leaves. 
Then I'm in a quiet room filled with flowers, when I close my eyes you're holding my hand. 
Now back in my forest, surrounded by a library of trees.
The stories and thoughts between the pages keep me warm.