Shedding layers like crusted tundra
Equal parts bright and shade
Alternate to spread shadow or give light
With ragged edges I start to rip at weak seams
I am but many parts
Some of those gone soft, rotten
Hungry to pull away at them
Strip bare of every bruised surface
Moonlight cleansing sweet silver
Like holy water to the ******
Painful but necessary
I am reborn

My fingers itch to coast along your sensitive tips
Each sigh and tremor enough to make me remember
What spring sunlight feels like
After a long, dark winter

Maraschino cherry red sun rays cut through pre-dawn shadows
I lay dormant in dream state
Limbs waking up to the vision of juicy starburst colors
Dancing across my pale gray walls
I stretch languidly with whispers of "good morning" coming from each molecule
The first of March three years later and I still ache
No amount of yoga, running, sweat or tears could ease the soreness
I get overwhelmed, stay in bed, retreat from sound
There is no running from the memory of your voice
Realizing that I did not want to was a journey
I prefer the echo to the silence
I trade the shadow for the light

The echo of his fingertips
Resonates through cyber cerebral tinsel bright ends
I sigh into the lengthening shadows
Knowing that with each minute gone
Another day has passed that I don't know the weight of those echos
I know only of their missing

It's amazing how much you can miss a stranger.
It's amazing how much you wish you could hear their words.
Longing?

Maybe that isn't the right word.

You can admire a face
A perfect slender nose
Soft eyes that have seen more than you could ever imagine
Windows showing deep sadness-
A sweetness
She reflects your soul.

You might not know where they come from
Or where they are now
Or even their full name
But you know you enjoy their presence in your life, no matter how brief
Their words
Their stories
Their poems

It makes you feel full.
You can tell that she's wonderful,
elegant,
real,
infinitely deep.

And you're left,

longing...

between midnight and 3am.


But then again, maybe that's not the right word.

And now the
Sweetest voice
Is a whisper of an echo
Of a memory.
And pictures fade,
Muted colours of shame.
And the mind
Plays ***** tricks.
And the heart
Drowns in silent tears.

Glitter falls from pregnant clouds
Giving birth to light amidst midnight
January blooms ice tipped, gorgeous
The face of silver moon on dark landscape