and become an architect.
Design that house you dreamt of once.
You left without a word
and instead, you became the architect
of my soul.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
I am bound by the shackles
of rationale and reason.
They wear at my ankles
and wrists.
I pick at the itching scabs.
I know you had the key once,
but you lost it
in a struggle against
your own heart.
Now, you’re sprinting towards me
at full speed,
lock pick in hand.
Face red, you fumble it
with your hands,
like a child’s.
You’re half-sobbing,
half-chuckling
and biting my ear.
The shackles come off.
Then, I lose myself in you
and never find my way out.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
as we laid there
in the false light from the ceiling
I felt the need to ask you
how there came to be
two oceans on your face
above a smile when parted
let out pieces of your mind that
I tried to catch
how, in fact, did I come to know
you under those black-rimmed glasses
under a once impenetrable wall
of stone and ivy
how can I drink in
every decibel of your laughter
while knowing I will never drink
from your mouth
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC