when I
forget to
remember
there was
good stuff
too, I

want to
forget to
remember
all the bad.

the stream is a breeze of
blue stars, layered in sweet
melancholy, layered in
sadness and love.

the world revolves like
a wheel, burgeons like
a flower, weeps like a
sorrowful cloud.

i yearn for you, down
misty lanes and dreams of
dark seas, fall until
i can no longer fall,

fall until our love blossoms
and our hearts cry out.

I lay there silent, beneath the soil,
A seed awaiting your sweet shower,
And in you came with moist and succour,
To shape my love into a flower...

(C) eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 2019

I climb,
in the lip of monsters,
in the best of demons,
rock, fire, ash,
skin dark and flaking,
tongue to the roof,
feet scraping,
to the precipice,
of here and there,
to before, into beyond
"in love"--
"into death".

Take me to late-night, dim-lit poetry evenings in untrustworthy safe spaces where we can shyly smile at one another and let our tongues and eyes dance to the clicking of fingers and amplitudes of words,

Take me to drink cheap wine at crusty places,
To savour the cheap thrill of one, maybe two, but never more than two, sweet, sweet Rosés.

Take me for takeaway lattés and cringy sad-movie songs that we can lament to on the drive in your car where we can gaze at the yellow city lights shading the glimmer of oceanic blues.

Take me to puff hubbly smoke at your house or stream poorly thought out comedies while eating buttery, stale popcorn.

Don't take me to clubs or fancy expensive restaurants or any grand social events.
Don't take me to places where I'll have to compete for your attention.

Stay with me and stay simple

Understand that I am not like the majority of people you may know

Understand that all people are different and they won't swoon for the same things

And above all, try and understand me,
Please?

That is all I'm asking for
That is all you need to do to take me somewhere nice.

And then she realised that
All stories die with the people who made them...

What a devastating truth to know that so many wonderful stories lie between the dust of had-been peoples.