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How you move so fluidly
I’ll never know how
All I have are my eyes
Trying desperately to take as much of you in as I can

I want to be what inspires you
What you dance to in the morning while the coffee is brewing
And our bed is still warm

I’ll share with you every word I have
Nearly every one will be about you
Even if we should come to an end
I know I could never stop what pours from this bleeding heart

If you keep rhythm in your feet
I’ll keep lyrics in my lungs
So we may constantly be what the other needs
To keep going
There's lots to think about when mostly
you just listen.
That is, not just waiting for your turn to speak,
but really listening.
You wonder
how necessary are the words of who is speaking.
Lots of times, even to them, it is just
It fills up the space between people trying to feel closer.
Sometimes it's practical.
People ask for coffee, or food, or ten bucks on the second pump.
When you listen, you can hear how honest someone is being with you.
Sometimes you wonder if they got really good at lying; you can't always tell.
But listening
Really listening
Is just learning one word at a time
about what's important to people who speak.
It's good to be in your own head.
Find out what's important to you.
In the dark I think of him and his beautiful hands. They fit around me so fluidly. He is gentle and curious, lending my body his kiss as I lend him myself. We are ever gracious that our intertwined souls separated for years just so we could experience this homecoming.
In the dark I think of us. We were meant to fold into one another and find forgiveness in one another's embrace. Here, in this bed, there is no such thing as shame. Here, there is trust and warmth. Touching each other's skin is akin to reading our favorite books. We never tire of this bedtime story.
In the dark I think of how peacefully we dream together. How my jaw never clenches in anxious loneliness when he is by my side. We are tranquil as a rowboat on the lake, rocked to sleep by the moon's gravity.
A poem written while recalling my place of true serenity. One of many love poems about one person in my life
There is time
to take a walk, to see the beautiful things.
Store fronts in the spring time
wheelbarrows painted pink,
the soil left alone has grown little white flowers.
To be delicate is to be brave
in this world of boots on the ground
marching in the streets of the innocent.
There are so many blessed paths to take,
looping and dodging the chaos.
They are lined with roses and watering cans.
May you contribute to the beauty you find and seek.
Leave it for those who follow.
If so inclined, water the sweet smelling rose,
it will encourage others
to walk.
These were the glittering pathways that led to a world
Utterly new
His was a life of secret beauty
I had no idea he knew so much more about release
About soaring so high
He exhaled life into me
Deep breaths into sparkling lungs
It wasn't pure
But it was raw and rich, like shattered porcelain

— The End —