In my dream you were a savior,
who conquered the world with words
and sought a painters sky
that didn't belong to envious stars.
In my dream you were the light,
who checked both shoes before stepping in
and smiled fearlessly
at the monsters who dared to fall within.
In my dream you were a musician,
who gave bats gypsy bells
that lulled the moon asleep
and birds sonnets to
keep the sun awake.
In my dream you were the ocean,
whose waves roared in an hourglass
and tilted gems on
melted sheets of sand.
In my dream you were the wind,
who curled itself around me
and whispered stories
beyond the company of grass.
In my dream this was you
who used to check both shoes
(before stepping in).
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 7:53 PM UTC
Butterfly kisses in the rain
and the universe becomes a waterfall.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 7:38 PM UTC
Life was going slower than a penny rolling across the floor.
In a palace glazed with porcelain--
pools of azure and gold--
And a prince far too young for the throne.
Yes, life was going slower than a penny rolling across the floor...
(9.13.14)
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
Drunk with anger
were the eyes that blinked
his thirst and hunger
were his last mistake.
As he stood at the edge of the world--
his creation in his hand
made of glass
that slipped between the fingers of time.
And fell--
was his last artifact
of perfection.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
If the Universe were a man in a trench coat
then his lair would be a carved-out pumpkin
with triangle windows and a candle as a kitchen
Perhaps we would all know when our time would come
and death would take bribes
as the devil coincides with all of the good.
Maybe we would all have a piece
of knowledge in our hands.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
If only I could tell you
how much the spiders
on my eyes appreciate you,
then the sentences that hang in the air
would be pinned to the ceiling
and the cigarette
would still be unlit
in the corner
by the lamp.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
&the world was small
compared to that of
hearts and flowers
And poems were only
whispers among the trees
that you weaved with
your frail
F I N G E R T I P S
You are the bright
light against pale
paint, the tiny curve
in the corners of
a smile--
the quiet
S
H
A
D
O
W
S
in the pages of a book
You are all the
beautiful things
--if ever eternally--
(so slightly your life flickered)
you are.
(2.22.15)
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
I will be a window
and the secrets you tell with your lips.
The sighs you blanket with the softest care
and the breaths you unknowingly count.
I will be the reminder of every second spent
and every moment felt.
A contradiction of your judgement
and a compliment of your beliefs.
I will be the ink of each unwritten imitation
of every mediocre song.
The scent of orange peel that trails on the
extravagant curves of your fingernails.
(3.19.09)
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
You were young once, my dear.
Twice before did you close your eyes for beauty
and never found peace with the
hands that touched you.
Yes, my dear,
You were here
...once.
(6.9.10)
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC
I will not be the hands that whisper across your skin--
the weathered kisses and cracked lips.
My caged heart is not your drum.
I will not be your stepping stone--
your weeping willow.
(6.18.17)
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC