Lilted notes upon rising tides
Drums of crashing waters shore
Water rippling and ocean sighs
A crescendo of a tempests roar

The screech of gulls taking flight
Melodious wind in water caves
Marvel here at the ocean's might
With the orchestra of the waves

See here the figures, singing loud
Harmony salty, sweet, and strong
Ocean creatures awed and cowed
At the hurricane of the siren's song

I guess
the good thing
about having many scars
is that
new wounds
rarely
leave a mark.

Your mascara runs,
Along with us in this rain,
And happiness runs.

Raindrops on your face,
And all along top lip,
Running down your smile.

My rainy day girl,
Love does not drip it cascades,
'Till we're drenched, unquenched.

-Jamie F. Nugent

Were you a summer citrus fruit?
I'm unsure.
You struck me with a sweetness
So demanding it curled my tongue;
Flooded my mouth with hours of sunlight
And warmth.
I peeled you eagerly down
Knowing each sliver as I handled it
Consumed with the simple scent
Of something so pure and clean.
Eagerly cast aside, I exposed
The sweetest secret
And felt your balmy flesh with my fingers
Learning each groove and plain
As if you'd never wither.
Silken skin brushed my lips
And I felt the hours of  sun,
The showers of rain that resonated
In each pace of time that shaped you
Into the gentle perfection before me.
Tasting all of that, I swore you were a flavor
Somewhere between citrus
Summer grass and lilac.

Were you a citrus fruit?
Who knows,
But in your absence
Any sweetness has been a
Vague reproduction
An echo of a necessity
That tasted of luxury.

Winter has settled in
And paley, I am deficient.

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.

“Tell me if it burns” you said
“Not after this” is what I want to say.
No, never.


But my mouth hasn’t moved.
46, 47, 48.
The seconds crawl like my skin
I haven’t spoken for almost a minute.
I smile,
the curve of my lips put you at ease.
Good.

“No, not at all.”
Your hand inches forward, fingers slim like sharpened knives
I am reminded of my mother’s favourite kitchen set.

“Keep going.”