I think about you
And my hands still feel electric
My mouth is a metallic aftertaste
Where you live In Memoriam
Fortified after hours; after time shattered, after time lost
After there was nothing else at all
You became the shadow that danced on the walls of this town
And they said that where blackbirds go to die
Is where you’d be found
And they said that luck came dressed in nine colours
That bow before the applause dies down
I think about you
And the way you set alight silk tongues in fevered rooms
And your hands that shunned the stars,
Because your mouth was full of diamonds
That filled the evening with an expired innocence
somewhere between lost and found.
I stand in stationary seconds
And I think about you
when my hands traced your map of ink and promises
Undeterred by the torrent of youth
and the madness of days lived without hours
Till you became a tongue tied afterthought.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
The evening opens like a peach cut in half
Nature born on the river of blue lights
and progress drifts east with a compass in hand
A fixed thought is forgotten
by the lure of secret windows offering a better view
Only momentarily, yet too long
Already half the silence and when I come back
What is this image I see?
It is not what I left in the hands of chance to take care of
The evening is a rivers' divide
and anticipation is the frail glass we hold full to the brim
of pride
Be careful and do not trip, we have counted each drop along the lines of loss
and find we cannot afford to have confessionary hearts freely bleed
This evening awaits the night
Let beauty linger under the street lamp,
interrupted by the inopportune mouth of time
We feign indifference and rely on the amnesiac mornings
to erase and make long memories out of evening's almost forgotten
promise.
The night closes in like claws hidden under the shadow of a velvet glove
Drawing blood from the surrender of the eternally damning invite
Its divine sweetness, rising from the death of laughter
The evening becomes desire's divide
No longer is what we lost, what we hope to find
With paper and pen in hand we watch and despair over time's ability
to move to the next hour
There are only so many near misses we can allow chance to make
Before the evening's fragrance begins to sour
and anticipation starts to taste like regret
and isn't that what brought us to the river's path
in the first place
Before promises of truths and glimpses into colour
fooled the hearts
and now you and I
watch the evening open like a stubborn wound
And in whose hands, shall we leave history to slip by?
and while the moon fights the night
I think I shall depart to, from where I came
But in between distances, and the river's divide
The shadow of your evening's blue cannot escape my eyes.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
My love has gone away
My eyebrows have grown back,
become unruly and become one,
waiting.
When my love left me the days turned cold
from my lips the stains of gold disappeared
like they had never tasted magic before
and the seasons turned my waiting
into an exiled dream
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
In a garden you wait for summer to begin and the first casualty is spring.
It’s lost in nameless blossoms crushed in your hands.
The verses become perfume found and lost in books you will never read.
As if solely to say, “the heart is a palace without a key”.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC