The way they make you feel when you're with them.

My brightest sun, my only one You flash your rarity upon me and I glow like the moon

A condescending talk between me and my consciousness.

Words, some lustrous some pure Some wondrous some unsure

On the edge of the chique maple end table the crystal wine glass laid erratic

The place that I see around me, it's purple Am I dreaming?

There are cracks on my wall and my ceiling has a hole I want to fix them all so I muster up my tools

My idea of being a human

My first ever haiku.

A poem describing the agony of an old violinist who can no more play his instrument.

My experience on the swing described in the most poetic way I can think of.