We found a cosy enough scene amongst the chaos,
Two strangers connecting among a crowd
like anxious magnets in a scrapyard
And it felt
A first encounter with a lifetime lover from some other dimension;
my self in a sense, caught to the reflection of an opposite ***.
We were the 'quiet ones' in our own regard
Prone to panic attacks and sudden unruly suggestion of madness and lengthy times of introvert
And although there was a lifesworth we never knew
There was enough of an understanding to
Make conversation. I mostly listened,
Lost in your voice. I don't think I'd ever gotten on with
Someone so quick
There are some beautiful people in the world that do that:
By the end of a conversation you're ready to hold them
A million years
The second conversation came later in the night,
Listening to the flowery clock locked to her chest
her mouth stirring cockerel shells and laughing honey teeth
liltly blind; oceanblue irises circumference marble black
pupils, puffy cheeks and half moon lips
curled and split in a caring smirk;
it seems impossible
to imagine being you and not thinking myself beautiful
Yet you say that's the case,
And like my expression was open to telepathy
She said the very same thing back to me and we both thought
I love you
but neither could say it.
There probably wasnt enough similarities to make up
For the differences.
Sterile strid that gently slid the moon asleep
And reverberated my watching reflection;
This time of night it's out of question as to
Whether spirits exist— the lack of loneliness
Is made up for by the stars so distant and still.
The surrounding world is made up of movement;
The tree leaves, the water and the breeze coalesce
And seem to hum a distorted Clare De Lune—
Organy and hopeful. It's enough to quiet
Any regrets for straining so far from home.
The residual silver of the moon drains from
The waves and meets the grass and my resting
Sometimes allowing yourself to get lost can be an insightful reset to life
cut through the lonesome night and
its shallow starshine
Flowers are the earth's fruit
Which await the sun's permission
To beautify and ripen
And at night may serve
As guiding lanterns floating atop
Their mother thorns
To gently lead the moon oceanward.
The truth is I love you,
I love you more than anyone else would
And I love you all the more
For loving me more than anyone else could.
I'm so glad we could save one another.
Weeping sonatas haunt the patio
Underlined with your twisting fingertips
Once ablur and tracing Beethoven Debussy
Mozart and Bach and it's all gone now—
I still recall your grey eyes as clearly as the rusted
and snagged red wood that forms the old arbour
Where we use to sit and trade stories.
Still here and seeming
A relic that should have been forgotten.—
I watch the sun turn the wood white
Then crackle crisply into night, I can still
Hear your spectral steps from the day you
I slept in the bed that used to be yours wondering
Written about two years ago.