Letters to Dandelion

by Xve

that is my only proof that I ever lived at all.

  As my face, my voice, my stature,

  my words, my deeds, my actions can

  all be destroyed and forgotten, but

  my blood is something that has never

  been here on Earth, and never will

  be here again.

  It is all that I truly will ever own.

  I wanted to write something to profound,

  and so true, that everything had to fall in

  line with the message.

  So, with this combination of quill and this

  special ink, I wanted to say,

  I love you. I need you. I want you.

  I live for you. I will grow for you.

  I will care for you. I will die for you.

  But, mostly, I’m so happy our paths crossed.

  My beautiful, precious love.

  My heart bleeds love for you.

  I wanted to make you see, that my

  words are more than just words.

  My words are me, and I am my words.

  And I love you – all from my heart.

  Magnetic

  It’s hectic

  Like Magnetic

  to catch a glimpse of you.

  So eclectic, like electric

  because my feelings are true.

  Through the corner of my eyes, I spy,

  as in a mirror your face.

  So full of light, my source of might

  providing flow of my spirit’s grace.

  To you, I’m drawn as though the spawn

  of nature’s instinct - well,

  Smooth like the yawn to kiss the dawn,

  preceding daylight’s swell.

  With just a thought I hear the song to

  match your humming breath.

  The words you speak, seem like to sing

  expelling joy beyond wealth.

  How I look, just how I wish to just

  to hold your hand and have us walk

  along, a-talk-a-long-a playful plan.

  To me you ere so well with care too

  much in protecting your heart; with

  that I’ve always looked at you and thought

  you to be very smart.

  But I know that there is gold untold behind those precious walls you protect,

  and the more beautiful the prize that we try to hide, the higher walls we project.

  So this is why I am still magnetic in the words

  that I speak and yeah I know it sometimes makes

  me seem like a big fat geek.

  But I am caught in your hold not wanting to let go

  and my feelings for you daily just grow and grow.

  So, here I sit, still trapped in this

  magnetic field being pulled towards you.

  Room

  When I fold up in my wings

  I know I can still bruise,

  from the force of a rock,

  that gets pelted through.

  Hurled, by the evil of the

  world. And no god ever

  wants to help me.

  But at least, inside, I can

  feel warm and breathe as

  I hug myself while trying

  to convince me, that I

  matter - at least to me.

  And I have a place in life.

  Because, when I spread

  out my wings, I never

  appear grand. I never

  seem to be able to win

  the hand, of who I love

  at any given time.

  Closed up in my little

  home, it's raining, but

  I wouldn't know. Cause

  each feather, one set on

  top of the other, allows

  the rain to run over and

  so, all I hear, are the

  small pats of water.

  drizzling on my head .

  This is what it's like.

  I only feel good around

  me. I only feel calm

  when I create it and I

  only can provide my

  own surety and peace.

  Folded up, inside these

  wings is home.

  Through there's

  love, room and safety

  for four precious more.

  Love me freely,

  Really …

  isn’t that the best way?

  Ideally speaking, I’m always hoping

  for you to come to the day, when

  that’s a reality, to make me happy.

  We’ve talked and both agree,

  happiness is temporary and

  comes from within.

  So with so much practicality, between

  us both, why can’t your heart I seem to win?

  I’m not a trickster,

  or a talker, or a player,

  I’m not a loose cannon,

  though you say I am J

  I’m just deeply in love

  with you.

  I’m far from perfect, I struggle

  daily and only have my skin to

  offer. Not much I guess, in a

  world glittering with gold and

  duress, that walks hand in hand

  like life and death.

  Time. Time, travels by and it

  makes me sigh, because I

  realize, that this is time I

  could have with you.

  You playing with my face,

  you singing your funny songs,

  me watching you dance,

  me loving you all night long.

  Wishes and hopes, erode,

  but not these.

  Youth ages, nothing lasts forever,

  but my words I water like plants

  to bloom in my heart for you.

  I reach for peace and love,

  connectedness, togetherness.

  Joy, discovery, placidity,

  longevity, pleasure beyond

  measure with you –

  I can only put these words out there

  and show you I care,

  know you feel something for me

  and hope like a stay of execution

  that I will see you again.

  I love you

  And with my trust,

  And with my sincerity,

  all I can do, is ask you,

  to consider loving me – freely.

  I Hold her forever …

  If we could both take a moment of time,

  so I could wrap my arms around you,

  press you close to my heart, that’s fine.

  Feel your hands on my shoulders,

  your breath express against my chest,

  My legs pressed deeply into your contours,

  so I can identify the softness of just your skin,

  I would never forget our statue,

  never erase this, our moment;

  I hold her forever.

  Whether it be an actual physicality,

  or a memory, that energy, of having

  my heart flow into you and yours

  reciprocate into mine, identifies a

  moment of time in when:

  It felt so right,

  and it became universally true,

  those seconds were created for only

  me and you, to come undeniably together.

  So that all the bombs, bullets or armies of

  the past, present and the future, could never

  separate us, or take that away.

  In those few moments, when I had

  recorded your smile, twisted the sheets

  in ecstatic release, or screamed your name

  when I came.

  I found you, in the open sea of existence.

  It had to count for something, for from

  nothing, could anything come so great?

  And all I know, is that in those fleeting

  seconds of time, I truly lived, even if I

  am now dead – oh reader, I can attest

  that I hold h
er forever.

  The Dandelion

  grows, from where, no one knows,

  as it comes, then goes, on an often

  long and lonely journey.

  This flower, also a weed, tumbles

  as it seeds, in the winds of time

  and chance, while avoiding romance.

  Upon happenstance of a field of

  poppy-whites, the billowy joy that

  they can bring to your eyes, and

  a smile curves when you realize,

  that they are more beautiful than

  most flowers in the spring.

  A Dandelion clings, to your clothes

  and they separate when the autumn

  wind blows, to spread their magic in

  populace for a new crop to bloom.

  They assemble in mass fashion,

  a sort of family unification and

  prove their dedication so often to

  those who know them by the

  resiliency that they show.

  So hard to be rid of these dainty

  little iron-willed flowers, so hard

  to not admire, but I’ve never seen

  a garden desired, as they are the

  true odd-ball of all flora.

  And I love her.

  The real Dandelion.

  I completely adore her.

  The human Dandelion.

  As I often wake to find, she is

  somewhere and never near, yet

  my memories and thoughts of

  her, always remain the same.

  The Tornado

  Touches down and uproots trees,

  destroys homes, flips over cars

  like they were light as foil.

  Nothing can measure its power.

  No one can predict their arrival.

  As they have often been called,

  “The fingers of God.”

  Their power is so immense and

  yet so similar to the deep feelings

  of love that I have for you.

  It came when least I knew,

  and it cleared so much of

  a wide path to allow my

  heart to start.

  It makes me feel as though I can

  do anything with you by my side.

  And nothing would stand in my

  way, to love you,

  to protect you,

  to understand you,

  to honor you.

  My love moves for you to keep

  things original.

  My love spins for you, to make

  sure you are cared for in every way.

  My love is a force for you that

  even and especially, I, don’t understand.

  But I know it’s there.

  A Tornado is air, and pressure, and

  the forces of nature way beyond our

  control.

  And so is how I feel, deeply about you.

  I love you.

  When I see you, my heart spins,

  my mind stretches and my happiness

  flies.

  When I touch you, all my senses come

  alive.

  When I kiss you, I go to another

  world.

  But when I make love to you, I almost

  near explode. (this you know.)

  Many people fear and hate Tornados.

  To me, they’re a strange, yet wonderful thing.

  Uncertainty

  · The Chasm

  · The Reach …

  · The Reach – II

  · Grave and Subtle Differences between a Man and a Woman

  · She won’t pick me

  · Most mysterious mystery

  · It’s never returned and she never cries

  · Nothing Romantic About the Pain

  · Allow me something … Say anything … or am I nothing?

  · I just don’t know …

  The Chasm

  From one side I can see the most beautiful woman ever, to me.

  As far away as she is, everything there is to love about her I can see.

  I can hear the soothing in her voice and match it to my scars.

  I can watch her hands as she does simple tasks and envision them

  touching me, caressing my back, holding my hand, reaching out

  to me to offer her warmth in a body length embrace.

  I can feel her whisper soft hair, brush against my face and smell

  the buoyant fragrance of what makes her so alluring.

  I can see the twinkle in her eyes as she seeks meaning inside my own.

  I can feel the wisps of her breath against my nose in anticipation of

  kissing her.

  I can see the glisten of saliva on her lips, the limp preparation of her

  tongue.

  I can skim the knots of her vertebrae as I glide my fingers down her back,

  The softness of her skin, the press of her things against my own.

  The awkwardness of turning my head, the electricity of our first kiss.

  And then, from the other side, she walks away.

  The reach …

  Fell short,

  as I lay on the beach,

  catching my tan,

  under the pecan sun.

  It used to be fun,

  as the world turns,

  and my thoughts

  would run,

  but then I met

  her and things

  went out of focus.

  Because she was

  atrocious. Her life

  scalpelled apart,

  and not so surgically

  so we can see the

  splinters from each

  dull axe strike.

  Her eyes were so

  tired, and her beauty

  so contorted, like a

  living Picasso,

  weeping dry tears.

  I offered my hand,

  from the recreation

  that my life might

  have seemed, though

  no one knows the

  cobblestones I have

  shattered my shins

  and worn out my

  Achilles Heels

  upon.

  My life, nor hers were

  any fun, only when we

  came together in a mix

  of the dirty game we

  played, could we laugh

  and love and feel each

  others naked skin

  in the warmth of dreaming

  that the other were a cloudy

  pillow to fall asleep upon.

  Sex? Oh Yes you fool.

  Grow up and be an

  adult, funny though

  that seems to be the

  target, but life somehow

  walks us backwards, from

  being inquisitive kids

  who can sense turmoil

  and trouble, and pour

  their uneducated hearts

  into trying to help,

  rather than adults

  who attack everything

  with money and though

  and logic and false

  pretenses in defenses

  of those who may be

  defenseless, but smile

  a sly crookedly snide

  grin towards the efforts

  of your undertaking.

  I opened my palm,

  with whatever I could

  offer. My poems, my

  time, my money, my

  love, my understanding,

  my patience (or little of.)

  My suggestions, and my

  often hidden tears, because

  just as thoughts are things

  and produce results, maybe

  tears are the pocket change

  to contain a notion for God

  to finally get off his ass and

  do something.

  Maybe not.

  As, in my poem – IF,

  being its’ own dimension,

 
of places where sights are

  unseen, thoughts are unprocessed

  and words are gone unmentioned,

  I forgot a fourth integer.

  If, being also a place, where

  the smallest door, can drape

  and empty canvas, to which

  may unfold a whole new picture

  of life, onto which we both may paint.

  Thus, as I opened my palm to

  her, with what little I am and

  what minute I have to offer, my

  heart burst full of fuel enough

  to take Her, I and her Children,

  to a brand new world.

  One of rest, success, Happiness,

  laughter, love, security and

  togetherness.

  Why would I lie? When I have

  already put it, right here, right

  now, in writing for all of the

  museum of life to witness.

  Could the courts not use this decree?

  To pursue the plan stated?

  No need. I never planned to default

  the deed of my love for her.

  I extended my reach, before

  her weary, yet Angelic face.

  I offered my hand, with the