I once dreamed of tracing Ghost lines
Now I do in waking life
Shadows catching shape and form of those missing
From those left behind
By candle light you are whispered
When gloaming lays still in the chilled evening air
I remember an autumn, not long ago
That made all those before it
Pale
On Equinox morning I became a wife
Two and a half years later I lost that life
Words fall short
Your arms never squeeze tight enough
hold close enough
Those that hurt
I am not made of paper mâché
I am steel, spider silk, diamond bright
With alligator skin that is all too thin
Don't ask me if I am okay
That word no longer plays a part
Focus on the silver lining
*Not on your broken heart

I am the salmon
that struggled all the way up to the bear.

On this night
I honor you
Candles lit
Your favorite food and wine laid out
Your picture graces my altar
My heart is open
Please, won't you join me?

Smoky jazz music floats on air
Carried by the whispers of prohibition
Deep woods moonshine
Flashing smiles from pearls to cigar tips
Soft velvet red coating lips
Hiding behind champagne glasses
Their fresh diamonds sing of blood
I watch from the office chair
Wing backed, cushioned
Fit for a queen
Bayou queen with swamp water veins
Ebony skin like satin
Whiskey eyes that take it all in
I built this from nothing, hole in the wall
This is my town
You have to pay to play
My debt book is thick
Your names like a mantra I hum beneath the saxophone tune
I'll get my money
*Or I'll get you

There are days where I stay in you all day
Wrapping soft sheets around my exhaustion
Hiding from the world
Mostly you are made though
Meticulously tucked and folded
Into an Icelandic grey satin present
My fingers itching to unwrap you
Yuletide greetings all cozy and warm
To a sore frame in need of rest
I accomplish much on these days
Inner turmoil organized
A place for everything and everything in it's place kind of reassurance
Although I would be lying to myself if I said these days are my favorite
There is such extreme freedom in being able to tell the morning to *******
Turn over into your pillow
Stay there.
All day.
Rarely does this urge pass my frontal lobes
sometimes I just cannot help myself

Gravity pulls water onto the floor
to trace my skin like a lover.

The steamed mirror can be anyone
if you’re not a biased audience
and I paste faces on bodies for spare minutes.

My hands are loaded guns
you have to get comfortable with
on parade day.

This is not a love story
it is a witch hunt
and Gravity has been the only thing that has ever caught me.

He sat numbly
Guitar strings silent beneath still fingers
A sore heart nurtured in the solacial sound of solitude

(pull yourself together)

He edges his lap desk closer
Parchment, ink and quill
To most the page looks blank
Only he can see the clear stain of memory spreading
As it grows larger with each metronome tick

(tear yourself apart)

He ties laces without passion
Single knots for slow walks
The night damp sings softly
Not easing the turmoil
Merely giving it a voice he could not find

*(therapy can be found anywhere, even in the dark)

I catch your cologne on the breeze
A sea of faces but none are looking for me

Often we do not know what ails us
Only that it hurts
A combination of the parts of an experience
Or the whole
Compared to what is left behind
Memories.
Good or bad
They remain