Confessions

You've gotten  comfortable
with.... the essence of waterfalls
mixed with a vanilla back drop... in Spring
And the flavour sits on the flora of your senses
Popping a fragrance that slithers into your tomorrows

My sorrows have faded
My flesh degraded
But my spirit travels down stream
to sip the nectar of your sentiments
Like cream on snow cones...i want more
i want to be soaked in every blooming moment
to keep the stain on my tongue

it's not fair when....the rain washes me
the seasons...change me
you enter my senses again and again
like the inhale of coloured acquatic deities
and the exhale of instrospection
.....................inhale of order
.....................exhale of affection
.....................inhale of broken breaths
.....................exhale of broken thoughts

I am saddened
As petals in summer
As leaves in winter
As imperfections...and the Tsunami of my tangled world comes rushing in
naturally, by the plate shifts of confusion and selfishness underground
Magma of differences melting the rocks and pebblesof reminisce
and this bliss becomes a mystery

within the tablet of my misery
Why? Why, must you engrave your signature too?
your confessions are epistles on the monuments exposing the death and heroic tendancy of my love
Love given, sacrificed, slapped, ignored and rewarded

I'm afraid
this monument may be too chipped from the weight of 'sentimental calligraphy'
and fail to reflect the significance of my time...