Lover's voice lulled
me to sleep.
And like morning dew,
the fog of all that deluded
settled;
liquid and soothing.
Pansies grew on
the telephone lines,
a Garden of Eden
in my chest
Everything, my dear
has flourished
from the traces
of your love
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
Your hands held out in the velvet heavens
fumbling, searching, desperate to catch
the falling stars, our mismatched marriage
to tuck away and cherish
in hopes its luster would never fade
and the rust, our nails will be ready to scrape
The faults of dreams, like the stars, in such multitudes,
far too scattered to recognize,
embodies the burns on our hands, how it thrives
with a flammable dance to endless ember
only the dews of our morning love could calm,
only the rain of time may soothe
Oh what sight, the dawn, and its crimson rays;
the harp strings of a promise silenced during its slumber
Its music so rich, we can taste
The crescendos will grace us, my dear
upon its rise there will be no fear
look up, my love, it is coming
the birth of new beginnings greets us here
Say your farewell to the evening, my love,
and it's pool of elusive glows.
Morning awaits us with a much resilient light
as pure as a child's laughter
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
hope was
the light
from
the chandelier
that only
hung
by a thread
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
I swear my heart
was once Pangaea
and in the midst of our torn out love
came the continental drift.
my love, oh love
it was not as tragic as i thought
back when i first learned geography
in fourth grade.
some lands sunk,
but some surfaced.
and in the years,
in the seven pieces,
life began to flourish.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
I was never superstitious
but if incarnation would be true
let me live a thousand more lives
condensed and liquified
as an ink to your mind's pen,
as words to your drunken poetry.
Let each stroke embody
every curve of my body
that your hands have ever held
so long.
Cross your t's
telling the story of our love
how one point was met
with another with a line,
replacing what once
was empty space.
And dot your i's
with the periods of our story;
from our book's first sentence
in the introductory
to the last sentence
of our cliffhanger.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
I am reckless and blunt and my dear,
I lash out at every opportunity
possible;
but my passion never dies.
My tongue is not for the faint of heart.
Men have fallen from its wrath,
and I too.
My heart disagrees with the weary.
Loves until the other crumbles,
or until I do.
I have no use for those who know
only to tame, darling fuel this forest fire.
Don't explain me in plain metaphors.
dissect me and strip me off this wax skin-
molded by hands of faceless men.
Expose the steel soul my heart
has tempered in its flames.
Paint me in art that disturbs and
exceeds the frames.
Sing me in resilient verses only
the deaf or I could hear.
And I, in return,
I will love your calloused hands
***** of paint and burnt from the heat.
Your voice will be the only music
I'll keep.
Strip me further and you'll find my heart, a mirror
a shard of translucent glass to
those who cant see.
I am reckless and blunt and my dear,
I lash out at every opportunity possible
but my passion will always
be born and reborn
from and for you.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
I carried love like loose change
tucked in the backs of my pocket,
clattering like cheerful tambourines,
evident with every
exuberant swing of my hip
and ready to be given
in the right amounts
with no expectation of anything
extra in return
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
I feel like what metal tastes
yet my spirit isn't anywhere near
as strong.
I cant light a spark
that won't consume me;
you linger in my insides, you see.
Filled me up with gasoline.
Every word of goodbye is a drop more and
with all the silence the words don't
replace, the fire is lit.
If the flames won't **** me, the suffocation will.
For i'm sick of your liquid being
and all I crave is when you
were once sweet air;
the very thing that I could live on,
the very thing I couldn't live without.
I don't know how to love you calmly.
Even the rivers cannot keep still,
even the sea awakens and thrashes
against each other
to the presence of the moon.
To want you without passion is
a crime.
To love you any less than this is
a death sentence.
But either way the night shivers
and each toss the waves make is half hearted.
For you are the moon
and I am the sea,
but you are nowhere to be seen.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
To find you in ink spilled countless times on sheets of paper
To find you in a stranger's cologne
To find you in places where sound easily echo
To find you in flowers stepped on
To find you in damp pillow cases
To find you in the push and pull of the waves
To find you in keyholes of broken locks
To find you in the emptiness in the safe
To find you in my violent storms of prayer
To find you in solemn curses
To find you in diary entries
To find you in coffee stains in my journal
To find you lost in translation (her lips never said it quite right)
To find you in cracks on the pavement
To find you in harsh sunlight breaking in my windowsills
To find you in my lamplight at 3am
To find you in beautiful things
To find you in Van Gogh's Starry Starry Night
To find you in somebody else's love letters
To find you in cruel reality
To find you in actual nights, starless
To find you in places that lack comfort
To find you in places filled with familiar warmth
To find you no longer in my shores but at least in the horizon
To find you in your absence
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC