night wishes

i sit, tired in my bones
and night creeps softly near
there is no one around
but even if there were
there is no one i would
rather speak to than you
won't you call?

i will attempt

my muse walks slow, steady
pausing between steps
to watch the world above and around
he lives in poetry and pineapples
he smells like musk and custard
he sounds like rainbows
he smiles like laughter

ode

I told him, letters
have a special charm all their own
handwriting and overwriting
and words scratched out
and little doodles in the margin
reading between the lines
is the most beautiful thing
about revealing your feelings in words
that's why I love poetry
it lets me say things that
I'm too shy to say in prose

within reason

here’s an odd thought - what if I really am
a happy person? what if cheerful is me?
if it is, I’m glad I was not, for a while
downs give ups meaning

had to try

irreverence is a promising concept
so is persuasion, and that's all I have
to say about that