“Reserve the language of sculpture for the art of sculpture. Lest you confuse beauty with the shape of a jaw or art with the size of a stomach.”

A fraction of an ounce of kindness from you was enough for me to fall.

The eye of the storm is the stillest part. There is calm at the centre of a cyclone. There is hush in the middle of a hurricane. The window of joy we shared was the eye of our storm.

Each Act of kindness is a seat filled at your funeral, a tear dropped upon your death.

A problem shared is a problem divided. A tragedy shared is a tragedy multiplied.

You ask me what is love and I’ll tell you I know not. You ask me if I’ve loved and I’ll tell you I once did. You ask me how I know I’ve loved and I’ll tell you I just know.

You’ve changed. And for that I’m proud. My loyalty is to you always. Not just the person I met.

Lost in a conversation is something I can never feel with you. For I’ve never felt more found than when speaking to you.

I unravel my future as I weave it with my past.

Hundreds of thousands of years of evolutionary training forgotten when I expose that vulnerable flesh to you.

In an age so connected why do I feel so far apart?

When a mother asks for a second child her body forgets the pain of the first. When I give you a second chance my heart is being forgetful.

Show me an example of perfection and I will show you a lie.

Yours is the face I give to the voice in my head that reminds me of who I am.

Let me kiss you one last time now that I know I will feel you on my lips for the rest of my life.

There is nothing in this world that makes me want to be a rebel more than being told to be obedient.

Pull me close when the light gives way to dark. Hold me tight until the stars all burn away. Dance with me to the rhythm of our hearts.

Your smile is an art no one should ever get hold of.

Her face was art and her body was poetry in a short black dress.

If creativity calls, you answer. Otherwise, the words are lost to you forever.

Muses are born from a soul that is aching but I would sacrifice the most beautiful art if I could stop one heart from breaking.

Loneliness is an art shaped by self-love.

Her veins are filled with the ink that writes onto the paper of her life and canvas.

I imagine poetry to be a living entity in me.

Friendships that die are like a lost art.