Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
this doesn't end well
the moment i chased
that glimmer of light
across your cheekbone
with lingering eyes
on the first evening
i knew it would not

and still

i reached out my hand
to trace the glowing
curve of blood warm skin
because how could i
with eyes in my head
and a beating heart
pretend to deny

such beauty

when your lips tilted
sly corners lifting
you spoke words from my
childhood my home my
own place of safety
as if they were yours
too and meant something

profound

and it was over
between one breath and
the next my heart was
no longer mine but
i did not notice
until it was too
late to look away

to stop

the way i turned my
whole self towards you
inevitably
compulsively like
magnetic north or
a sound in the dark
you were laughing and

lovely

this doesn’t end well
but it could and does
it matter when you
lean into my side
the thought blazes through
my veins whiskey warm
that it might be worth

the end
This is very very new and I'm still fine-tuning it. I think there will still be some revisions but wanted share and hear what y'all think. It's about a person I loved once.
Let the wounded bird take wing,
Though dismal may be his fate;
Should he overcome this cruel sting,
His triumph he'll celebrate

Let the willow bend and weep;
Though it appears to be weak,
It would tell you its roots run deep
If it were able to speak

Let the wolf howl to the moon --
He has the right to be heard;
Morning will be here all too soon,
Then enters the singing bird

Let the spider weave her snare,
For this task she was designed;
While her prey, feeling no despair,
Awaits its cruel fate, resigned

Let love and loneliness brawl,
Let die the things that must die;
Release the tears and let them fall,
And let the broken heart cry

Let me love without constraints --
The sinking boat needs no oar;
Do not preach of sinners and saints
With Death's feet so near my door

Let me taste love's sweetest wine,
And let this shattered heart mend;
Having seen my star of love shine,
Then let the curtain descend
You tell me I don't have to like the same things you like,
but when you open your mouth I hear
our ancestors sigh in their graves, I hear
the seasons stir and the sky break open like an over-ripe peach.
I hear
the stars in all their majesty and they whisper
the secrets of the universe into my tired ears,
I see gooseflesh prickling up my arms as I watch
my sentences crumble,
raining down on me pieces of
all the empty spaces between my words
that were never quite full enough
to boil over, never quite
saturated enough to dampen your skin
like my tears do when
the sun comes up and I'm lying next to you.

I trace my fingers over you in patterns and
your eyes meet mine with questions of "What if?"
emblazoned in them like a tentative promise.

I will never know how to not love what you love, how to un-see the fact that
everything you touch is framed by
the voiceless haze of summer ripening from spring, the warmth
seeping into my bones as I lay on a rooftop somewhere and wonder
about all of the unknown things, all
the mysteries of science and the hope
that someday, when we are old and tired,
we will know peace.

I don't know how to un-learn
the way my chest fills, gently, beneath the night sky
the way my hands fit into yours and my head
sits comfortably in the space between your chin and your chest.

I don't know how
to un-love you.
Next page