I.
You're more than you think you are.

II.
You're discarding me and it's alright.

III.
I must deserve it if you think it's right.

IV.
I will dig my nails into my own skin the way you did.

i.

Into her warmth
Into her warmth;
Is where I seeketh to be.

ii.

Into her soul
Mine home;
Abode,
Where I canst be alive
And free.

iii.

Into her warmth
O' the place of her torch;
That burneth brightly and free.

iv.

Into her soul
Mine safety abode;
Where there's a spiritual bed
For Me and mine queen.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley-Filipino rose dedication

'                          reflected flight:
heron's wings curve, touch
                           in autumn's kiss










'

I.
My hands are shaky with a scalpel.
Someday I may cut out my own ovaries at the cost of blood.

II.
You aren't meant to worry about me.
I'm one of the boys you look will at later, and say "What a tragedy."

III.
Don't worry now, I'm not a **** statistic yet.
Don't protect me, I'm not a court case yet.

IV.
I'm still fighting ain't I, right?
I'm not here for helping.

(i miss you so much, i wonder where you are.)

i miss you the way someone misses a step on the stairway, a sharp jolt of realization, followed by a falling and crash.
i miss you the way birds miss winter, when they migrate to a perpetual spring.
i miss you like hot fudge sundaes in summer, sugar and sweet and all gone.

(i miss you so much, i wonder if you're happy)

i miss you like a favorite library book that has to be returned.
i miss you like a forgotten holiday.
i miss you like a lost love letter that never got sent.

(i miss you so much, i wonder what you're doing)

i miss the way your strong callused hands would wrap around mine, giving me strength. i miss your forest eyes. i miss the smell of aftershave clinging to my clothes. I miss the smell of us clinging to my sheets. i miss the way i once  kissed you gently, but you grabbed my face, hey, and made me kiss you more thoroughly, that's more like it, with a smug look on your face. i miss the feeling of your hands on my waist while you held me as if i was a tiny doll to your large frame. i miss the intimacy of our faces pressed close together and you tasting my smile as you touched my lips to yours. i miss your **** smirk. i miss your tattoos and tracing the indent of your spine as you let me explore you closer. i miss taking pictures with my old ipod and you'd kiss me with your eyes open and i would open mine and all the sensations that came with being around you.

and all of this is a stupid run on sentence and i am a stupid pining fool and you're somewhere, but i've been nowhere
ever since i started
missing
you.

All I can remember though is the taste-- skin and sin and the way you made me shudder your name, oh god, such fire.
But maybe it wasn't enough, because as much as I loved the burning, maybe you just felt the aftermath.

Was my love the taste of ash to that archaic soul of yours?
You love your smoke though, breathing in my burning.

Baby, I'm a moon and you were a killer asteroid that left craters with the immensity of your short lived love.

But the hurting never felt so sweet.