Sins that resonate will ripple and wave
And crash against a sandstone erosion
Dribbled whiskey won’t name you depraved
When tithes rust from hypocritical corrosion

All it takes is one person
To pull a poem out of the stack and say
“This is good, people should see it”
Never mind the other contenders
Or the fact that it’s been sitting there
Under a pile of other feelings, pages, works
For so long that it’s warped and dusty
Because one person likes it
And shared it with the world
And suddenly it’s a masterpiece
Even if it’s not
But that’s a beautiful thing, albeit frustrating
Because all it takes is one person

Happily Ever After
Alls well it ends well
Ending and beginning a different story, slightly less intriguing

than the last
Still there
Still charming
Just dull

Dull when hands swim in hair every night
When minds meld and eyes dilate
When your skin burns for theirs

And then it doesn’t
And then you sit side by side
Having the time of your life as your life passes you by

Staying sat and saving money
Making lists of things to do
And their name sits between laundry and dishes

When their kink becomes coupons
And your fetish is a foot rub after a long day
And you wash it all down chamomile and sleep

And you fall back into their grasp
Never having left
And still feeling far away

Youngblood with old souls
Barely a history to have had
Sorting through the things that happened when nothing’s

happened in ages
Still knowing this is yours
Where you belong

Carrying the torch to a fire unlit
But when embers never die
They must be nurtured

Through meaningful breath and dry brush
Until they sting your leg with a spark
And you burn them with your silence

As you climb back onto their lap
And smoke rises to your mind
And smothers your doubts

As you light a bonfire scented candle for the night
And for every night
Rekindling the spark and rolling over to read on your kindle

Glassy, green, genuine
aimed at me
dilating

rosy, ruminating, rejoicing
creased lines beside a lash
for things that haven't happened

beaming, brimming, beautiful
innocently conjuring
a rock on a finger

young, yearning, yielding
hovering over a question
but time's caught your tongue

The bread is thick enough to soak the oil
And words fall to the bottom of the glass
Like a residue that rests with crumbs
Below the surface
Suffocating under a layer tense silence

You can hear them
Stories that turn into pantomimes
Shadows dancing in his mind
Joining hands in the quiet
Breaking free when the voices come back