but I swear that if you anchor your wrist
to my roots
you will still clutch the heartbeat
of a thousand cemetery steps
your hands unfold on the tender skin of my chest
in risk of threading the needle
to close to my heart
but the light that fell after
was chapter and verse all along
and with the night we taught ourselves to hunt
and harbor the slow drift of hurried hands
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
your hands have known too many passengers
held to many things
but you still bloom with ancient hieroglyphics
that light the now hours of this sunset veil
and I promise to always shelter you
from the train wrecks
and help you count the moments
that don’t leave bruises on your heart
and for the ones that do I swear
I will knit away at them to keep you protected
because flowers of war
are beautiful when grown together
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
the expiration date you put
on the shoreline of my heart
made me remember
how you got down on your knees
in the fire and
promised like clockwork
hanging loosly on your lips
something dying to love
but lying to protect
screaming whispers
to the versions of moments
that keep looking back
second chances
but there's to much smoke
and we're to broke to feel it
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
Shadows settle
along paved roads
and fences where the
sunset chased
reflections in rear view mirror
glances
between photographs
and moments
where
the
night
begged
itself
to
stay...
in some collective box that held
daylight down by your
childhood home
free
holding limbs and fractures
and each remark swallowed
in churning sound
lungs of light and darkness
chewing itself away
in the hours
gone
on the long drive
home.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
You put the syllables
in your pocket,
exposed to the sky
choked in blood and salt
and I knew you had me
wrapped in blankets of
paint
even though
you ran out a long time ago.
Even though, you have done
this a million times.
Even then,
you manage to
keep the flame
blue.
[ Thank You ]
I can't put my finger on the trigger
of what drives my soul
to shoot fire upon
the cracks of your back
where lies have been told,
and puppies lay when
there is no one else to
curl up to.
This is a war
with paintbrushes and ink
swelled up against your wrist
like the tide crash of a
thousand acidic water droplets.
consonants strangle vowels
falling from the accident
that left your mouth
beat up with words and whispers
and things no one
ever wants to listen to.
I hear them.
These are just labels
that don't need definition
just all the same subject
that gets caught between
the questions you ask and the
answers I can't seem to find.
But,
I know we plan on being peaceful
and the hours between us
isn't absence.
I'm fully awake,
at the sound of your voice
and days from now
we will listen to what
we say in places of importance
and light will shine
down the river of your arms again
and tomorrow, will be better
than the ones before yesterday.
The fire will paint itself,
the bandages will
be the canvas.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
A thousand ships
sailed like
the day you carved
my breath out
from the inside.
Curtains etch light
against unfinished
cracked walls
calm wind
laid across
abandoned bodies
Words worn like
garments around our
wrists in chords, you
gently raking stars
from my eyes.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
The signal fire is
coming home.
Desperately clinging to smoke
from the shores gun,
we came from
heart in wire.
Two souls at a negotiating table,
one wounded,
the other taking them in.
Eyes-One String,
a pregnant belly full of
words. Your reclining head,
covered in violets.
Maybe its better,
if you don't say
this isn't everything you are.
The empty bar is quiet in New York..
20 secs till the last call as I run
to the next page, in the next chapter.
Fraile hands hold voices in quakes and
strange music. This room, a shade of wine,
suspended names in vocal chords.
Glasses filled all afternoon, now sip
as I draw the curtain.
comfortable silence blooms alongside a paved road,
somewhere only we know...
in stones it is scattered, spilled against
stolen skin, tattered never torn.
A skeleton key, the master of morse code.
Tattooed against my neck.
sweat.blood.tears
holding tight scars
beneath the surface.
intertwined fingertips pulsate
against the rim of paper,
like the marching bands of manhattan.
distance has torn this earth once,
vindication. Drive, Darling, Drive.
setting the fire, to the third bar.
lifting the sheets that cradle your ****** hands
an emergency room filled with nurses
the crossfire, in my bones, bleeding that
dark roman wine across tables of
a teenage dream.
A heroine saved a life, A hero is absolute.
searching for warmth beneath your pen, your scalpel.
found there is your lifeline, dense breath and trembling.
Stay, you found me.
Knitting away at your skin,
brushing against violet bruises,
imprints of days gone by.
A tower, someone like you, a soldier in silence.
memories reflected in abandoned tattooed houses.
curved around palms, grasping the last bit of
crimson tide.
The reason why: lights burn to crack the shutters
in an attempt to fix you, candles and fireflies
inside these lines, just say yes as the city winds
back down into the wild, and we into the fire.
bricks against our backs,
the electric feel of home, at your side now,
an outline of womb fired venom
fallen empires consuming
day old hate.
every drop of words, swallowed.
vicious stains left by hands, yours.
we go tonight,
this
poison and wine.
A wooden chair
held last night,
friday,
after the fall.
Like glycerine
dripping into rain
fast cars
As I continue to sew all of what your wrist let fly
away in this moment.
Georgia, Texas Rain.
Brush it off.
There are better days, ahead.
The remnants of life are on the blade.
For god sake, dear.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
Ill burn this down
to make room
for your sky
full of stars.
words weep unhurried
passing over paralyzed
breath from none
to numbers.
they say eyes are a portal to
the breath of life
each strung out moment
played in the anthem of hands
machines match
a thousand notes
sung in the distance
between fingers
and string
between, pause.
birds, vulnerable
to the sky
in natures abdomen
our
reflection in campfire sonnets
Sipping wine from our sleeves
smell of earth clings to broken skin
bruised by
light strokes of
intention
Zero hour was
found within the rush
of the turning book
pages, that burned
like a soldier
lying in the sun.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Pens fall from lips
quietly inside
a rush
of
dusty mouths laid
across the oceans piano.
The blood stricken
fruit of my heart
drips wine into
a salt rimmed glass.
Truth stained in his
wide, fragile, grin.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC