The lights that flicker in the window
across the foggy sea
seem to whisper of the lives
That were always meant to be
The whispering of a lovers flame
The embers running slow
The fog of grief that seems to linger
Bringing in the cold
I once knew the woman
Who stoked a fire so bold  
But the home remains cold & empty
No jolly sailor bold
but light still flicker
Across the foggy sea
a little mantle to others
those who were never meant to be

Over margaritas
And FaceTime calls
She suddenly stopped
and said to me
he really is your ‘great love’
isn’t he?

It was the way he smiled

and

i knew.

I miss the wildflowers
when the forget-me-nots were in bloom
when I smiled more
and laughed often
writing of the ways I felt you etched on my skin
or jams and clementine

but the teardrops
wilted
shedding blue on the floor
the rain didn’t really stop
and the glass sits half empty by the couch
the jam didn’t pop right
and I sit a lot more

I miss the wildflowers
I hope they bloom once more

Sometimes
I forget the way your hip fits
and other times
I forget you like the heat
But never
do I forget the way you love me
in the daylight and in the sheets

you know it's real
when the songs I used to sing
are sung
with thoughts of dreams
laughs
and dances
with you

home
Sprinting of feet
Dances in place
Food placed to meet
The needs of those
Both near and far
home

House
Decorated
Exact
Collected
House

but safe
Safe is home of people
With a hearth
With heart
With laughter
And with love
but safe
is what I love the most

do you think
sometimes
that when our parents asked us
to dream so big
they did it
so that
the achievable goals
only a breath away
were no longer conceivable?

and as I moan, regarding perfect little deaths
his voice makes me cringe
and I’m transported back into that late november night where you just held me.

I hate
that you say my name with such careless abandon

just so that my soul would ache

but god I love
the way you touched me

in the dark of night
just to leave me in the morning

when I asked you whether I should go turn out the lights

You said “no. why?”

and for a fraction of a second I could see myself through your eyes

and I never felt the need to ask again

‘I run the risk that I could get your perfect wrong’
he crooned with nothing
but the wistfulness
that every creative understands
whether
spending every breath trying to capturing their essence
or
refusing to attempt to capture their perfection because
how could you condense
the way his shoulders shifted
making the waves of his freckles find a new shore
and to think
i could capture the new rain his eyes crinkled with
between every smile
and every laugh.

“Ain’t words that could shoulder so much weight”
he sighs
and as the colours never quite matched his hair in the lakeside sun
i knew
that sometimes
the artist sits
across with their morning tea
with their greatest muse
opting for fingers over brushes
and years over pages

life is too short
to not offer
the passerby
my innermost thoughts
in a flirtation
a smile
if I can’t do anything to put a smile on one person’s face
I’m not doing anything
of any importance
at all

the knight
stands at the ready
Helmet down
sword up

ready to give it his all for those behind him

the white flag long gone
soaked with blood

back leg — staggering
roses dying by the side

and he stays there

never moving

the knight stands at the ready
never breaking

even when it’s only himself to save.

sometimes we must realize
that there’s a reason
lovers who sit beside each other
last longer
than those who do not
because
how can you hold the rope
together
when your constantly tugging against
the other?

as kingdoms have been erected
and as empires have crumbled
not once
did proposals
such declarations from the heart
become more important
than the quiet pleas
of the soul
cradling itself
within the etches of time and callused palms
waiting permission
asking
if they may give themselves to the other
in the only form it knows

My dear,
When I tell you love is steadfast.
I mean it is both a roaring river but it’s banks will rise and fall
there will be external forces
And there will be internal ones
That push
On
you
And
them
But in the end
The river always flows

you loved me for my innocence
my light
my newness

and like looking back on faded pictures
i sit shaking my head
at how little she knew
and that I wish I could bottle her fearless
trust

but god I can’t blame you
for loving a force of nature

because for all of it
you held her as best as you could

with terror in your eyes and trembles in your hands
that she’d leave

because she was too young to read the signs
and so she cries all the way home
to me

flipping through poems
and what I thought love only was

When the sun has yet to rise
And when your eyes remain closed

and

When your breathing softens and your shoulders finally drop every fraction of tension

It is then that the shadows seem to encompass you, giving you an ethereal glow

but you remain effortlessly breathtaking

dropping my thoughts, desires, and love at the nape of your neck

before my eyes close for the night

and I am lost in the comfort of you

what I would give for one more goodbye

a game of pool, a little banter.

we could even pretend we’d never met before, not that we could convince anybody else.

I don’t think we’d get through one game though, not really.

I’d probably spill a drink
and someone would come up and tell you hello, eighty five different ways.

and we’d both remember, and wonder what we’re doing anyways.

Avoiding whispers in the dark

if I could stay
existing
in that 15 minutes of a scalding hot shower
ice cold companion
with nothing but candlelight
and
wow that silence

human beings were made to be touched
softly
with such devotion and reverence
and maybe a little awe
tracing the littlest scrapes
scars & freckles
like the shrines of every idol
to worship at the throne of messy hair
and drums of heartbeats
synced to a choir I only hear
when they say my name

we both were screaming
to pick up more speed
running from ourselves
in the ******* getaway car
hoping to crash

sitting awake
I thought of him

of what we were

of what it was

of how it should have been.

but now
I thank god
sitting awake

instead of waking up screaming

grief used to sound like it was a few sad days
like you wandered on the road, but knew where you were going

it took but a moment

Or it sounded that way.

But grief felt like nothing. or everything. It felt like a bubble encased the world, and continued on without you. There was no road, no wandering, no movement.

maybe just static.

and nothing else

but that’s not even true


because it was absolutely everything
a cacophony at the highest degree

but just with silence
and an empty seat

On these days
When the absence of you
Tears pockets in the fibres of my being

Time moves slow.

Because while the moments are fun
They could be better
With your laugh
With your touch
With your words

Like every molecule bound to my form craves the covalent bond that is being deprived

So I curl up
As if tightening my form could keep the missing from leaking out

And I envelope myself in the pieces of you
To stifle the leaks until
Your laugh
Your words
And your touch

Are here
With me

And the absence of you tears holes no longer

please do not
leave me in cold sheets
where I can feel the rain pattering
bringing out the mourning in my bones
I do not want to hear it whisper across my palm
seeking its partner
no longer in reach

I want there to be words to encompass the way his kisses across my collar feels like the nordic fires and metal smiths honing a blade with fierce determination.

the ones up my neck like the night the prodigal son came home. the oxygen in my lungs craving to be mixed with yours, to find it’s way home.

the way his lips taste the way liquor feels when a beggar finds refuge after a long day, craving morsels without sense.

the way his eyes furrow underneath mountains of wisdom from years gone by, like one about to decide a war, not the dress of red or black.

I need words to express the touch of him, like the celebration of a war over, when drinks may be had and songs to be sung, heaving great sighs of relief and joy for the future.

I want to whisper nothings to the wind and have it whisper back to me the echoes of his laughter across my navel.

but there are no words for such things. For the depths of passion are merely scratched by the word itself

why does that half glass of red
taste so much sexier
when cuddled in bed
with a snoring floof
and a fresh set of sheets

I want the echos of starlight to be captured in the lenses you chose to view the world in
I want the heartache of violet to hit you so profoundly you must ask
Why

I wish the beauty in the alphabet could crash along your deaf ears

and shake you like thunder

tease me
as we lean against the bar
hiding from the others
call me darlin’
As I accidentally step on a toe
fine maybe two
and pondering who’ll wear the cowboy hat for the night
and maybe a couple more

in moments like this, i wonder
should i say thank you?
or scowl at my own tongue
because why must you be 'thanked'

for finding the beauty in the way a masterpiece i did not create became encased and enclosed around me? a heartbreaking masterpiece my soul hides behind.

but darling, really.

must i thank you?

dare I thank you for noticing

the way my hips flow like new streams
making their own path to once again embrace. finding themselves through pure instinct.

should i say thank you?

for seeing the same desire in me that Venus possessed in the arms of passion, the same ones lost to history we so seek to be held by?

or may i say thank you.

thank you for guiding me up the stairs that never end, winding along as I am, so that I may be, all that I am. Thank you for blindly reaching into the dark and choosing to love all that you touch...

even Eros would have loved you.

As your willful blindness and seeking touch brought me to the final step, so that I may say

thank you.

he played with my hair
as we talked
and I swear I could spend hours listening to him ramble on
like he isn’t the first person I peek around the corner to see his reactions

and they looked at me like I had another head
when I shrugged
because I don’t find that he speaks slow
he speaks
with intention, waltzing between heartbeats
or checking his steps
so I can catch my breath
in between the murmurs of mine

tonight is one of those nights
where the stars would’ve looked perfect waltzing across your back
As candlelight flickered on fingertips where kisses just passed
I want to hear every murmur and sigh
as you flick the strands over my shoulder
I know the whispers won’t stop till starlight tucks itself in
and our giggles and dreams echo till day breaks in

In these moments
Where I crush against pillows
No longer to muffle sobs
But
To replay his touch
On my back
Where I can feel his arm
Resting underneath my head

I know

I spent the day
humming the hymnals of spring rain
of rebirth as I washed up to my elbows in dirt
reminded of how unassuming a tangle of roots can be
and the way rosemary smells like a violin sounds
That being kissed by the soil, cradling a cheek with a swipe
is more fulfilling
than I’ll ever
be able
to articulate

you left me tools
I don’t know the names to
and anchors
without their mates
manuals without starts
and windshields
without rain

you left me.

and I suppose I have to figure it out myself

There are moments in life
we all have dreamed about
The cinematic snapshots
magically capturing that feeling
In a way that the world rarely allows

It’s the present moments

and I am oh so lucky to have found one with you

There are days
Where the stellar sings quieter
Whether muffled by mediocrity or sadness
no one’s sure

but they continue to sing
regardless of the love in apartment 2b
or the abuse in 3c

the stellar doth not discriminate
it’s tune drones on

even when the world seems to go all wrong

so as the day continues
so do they

till the stellar no long sings
and they sky is no longer grey

Something special about the way you meet strangers.

We were never supposed to talk to them, but everyone is a stranger till a word is spoken.

Or does it have to be spoken?
Because
When you
Looked

No,

Stared
At me

You went from stranger to someone I’d met before,

Just in dreams

And memories long forgotten

Something special about the way we speak to strangers.

Healing is not linear
I like to say as tears fall parallel
Why can’t I let that go
Loosen my grip
On the anger
The injustice
The lies
Why can’t I let that go
For every second that passes
Not the pain you caused
But that I let myself be pained
Over
And over
As the tears fall asymmetrically
Onto a tight fist
And his unopened letters

Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
For the way you knew that they made me smile
And for the way you purposely splashed me to make me beam
Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
But my favourite thing, my dear, is reserved for you

You make me feel
Like the bottom of a wave
The richest of colours
The deepest of greens

you seek me out with careless abandon
or simply the determination of a knight
Unafraid to back down

from the little woman
Peeking around the willows
Dripping in her lake

You pause with awe and wonder
like you could see every moment that made this second, to get here, worth it


As a little grin traces my face
and I pull you in
and you sink
as I drag you under
blissfully
unaware

When pillows take up the chasms that held you
My breath rocks
When tshirts take up the mantle of your scent
My fingers cling
When my form aches to curl against you
My bed quivers

When you take up to leave
My heart leaves too

they say the eyes are the windows to the soul
I would argue
that the tables which we sit at
and the way we sit
is a far better indicator
as to how much soul someone has left to care for

because darling,
how you sit across from me
makes me wonder

whether anybody is home

something I’ve learnt

and maybe grieved along the way

is striving to be something

is so very different

from wanting to want to be something

that requires you to love

and god just to try

more than you fear

and I watched you close that door

over

and over

before I decided to finally walk away

those nights
where you just know
like an addict
you’re itching
stretching out fingertips
heart aching
hoping maybe for a stimulant
or just a numb
whatever’s closest
but my hands stay against my sides
tucked
because
you know the itch is far more satisfying
than anything in arms reach

A constant
constantly in motion
I thought meant constant speed
constant weight
constant thought
but that you treat
as if it’s at rest

without any external factors
and we know that’s not possible
But more than that
I don’t want rest
not that kind

so I spend my days
learning that a constant
May be constantly in motion
but varying speed
Changing weight
adding friction and moments

that bring complexity
a little joy
and hell a lot a pain

but god do I refuse for me to be stuck
in a perfect swing
of constant
predictability & rest

The painter does not worry
About the sculptor being buried

The painter simply sees
That to carve a throne may be his trade
But The crown is not carved with his name

This throne and it’s duties were simply not yours to carry.

I can paint all the clouds in the sky, and I may be able to hold them too

But atlas is there for a reason

As I am here too.

So as I paint all the starry nights in the sky

And you move mountains

The sculptor must see

The rock cries too.

there's something special about a kiss.

the kinda kiss where you need a second.
the kinda kiss that makes you rest in bliss.
not the two seconds of ecstasy
the two lifetimes kinda bliss.

the kind of bliss that starts when you see them smile, and then see them smile for you.

I want that kind of kiss with you.
the kinda want you now kiss
the right on the floor kiss
the kinda I'm tired but I love you kiss.

the kinda kiss that is only for you.
the kinda kiss I wanna give you
and stay
stuck
two lifetimes

or more

with you.