Moving...

The beauty of it lies in
its' happy wookie, its' wind,
its' grey, in its' neverending
power to be new.
To find that fearless pull
to know that wherever you
walk, you will be as two.
That this might be that best cup.

Liam

Take --- from him, all those thoughts of swaying
Marbled eyes
Surprised that he'd actually done it.
The swaying though; a euphoric looseness in him, unmoving
and then Someone felt that face
and said he wasn't gone yet
pupils coming alive freaked us to be,
a minute later, pleading, an unimaginable desperation
Cursing that he felt this way
that I was the only person he'd ever wanted to bruise.
Then he gripped my arm in his almost-dead fist.

But to think it was HER
And the way I crashed when after my
tr - tr - triple - take
it turned out to be a beautiful mistake

Mr and Mrs

How
Would he know?

How would he know that
it would knock the wind out of her

How his soul searching would
knock her soul so she turned to haircuts to boost the battered bits.

He just fucking said "s-o-r-r-y"
but that doesn't (hair) cut it I'm afraid
when those battered bits are the ones
that cry in the emails to me
that make her collapse at work
that leave her questioning whether she can even
Do this any more.
That's his soul-searching, is it?

You are everytime the biggest sun

You are all the colours in my rainbow

You can't see me

(I can't see you)

I'm flying.