Morning afters are always
Idyllic; breezy, balmy, slow.
Blue sky highways
White clouds completing the tableau.

Morning afters are quiet
Sleepy cuddles and kisses
While butterflies riot
Deep in your insides.

Morning afters are filled
Full up; a carnival mix bag of treats
Feelings of contentment and thrill
Yet somehow full of deceit.

Morning afters are never
What they seem
Peel past the bucolic exterior
And it's merely a vanishing dream.

I'm in pain and it's all because of you.*

I shouldn't have let you in my life in the first place.
I shouldn't have let you creep inside the barriers i've built all my life just to protect my self from this kind of feeling.
I shouldn't have let you own a space in my heart.

Because now, i do not know how can i survive a day without hearing your voice, seeing your smile, or have goosebumps whenever i see you steal a glance.
Because now i do not know how to fix that barrier, or i doubt if it will be strong enough to resists your every touch, your every stare, your very presence.
Finally because i don't know how to take back that space that you have claim, not forcefully, but so effortlessly that it surprise me how much of my self is willing to get hurt. Over and over again.
A repetitive process.
A series of nightmares.
Slowly break my heart, my dear, as it metamorphose into a million glass like liquid called tears.

Until all of the feelings i have for you hangs itself up in the air and be left stranded. Until it is all gone. Gone forever.

-This one's for you.

Dried tears are my blanket,
Bitter loneliness my pillow
And my dreams are in the past
Or something else I'd rather not see.

A beautiful swan
Of the finest crystal
Sat upon a shelf,
Wings poised
To take flight,
Refracting weak sunlight
To create a halo of beauty.
For years she sat gathering dust
Until one day she fell
In a graceful arc,
Smashing on tiles
With the sweetest sound.
Of freedom.
At last.

Mom was watching from the window as I
Left the safety of my house, and my yard and
Started walking to my friend’s house.  It was
Only two doors away, and she figured even a
Four year old could go that far without getting into
Trouble.  Trouble is, I had to sit down halfway there.  Maybe
To tie my shoe, maybe to pull on my boot, maybe
I was just tired.
Trouble is, Grampa Ulrich (Ninety years old, preacher, retired)
Chose just that instant to back his car out of his driveway.
But I was sitting in his driveway.  Mom watched.

I can’t imagine her horror as he backed his car over me.
Grampa Ulrich, feeling the proverbial “Bump in the Road” – pulled
Forward again.  My leg broke in two places.  Mom watched.
How tall is a four year old?  What separates his leg from his life?
Mom watched.  Who else was watching?
Mom died last year.  Who is watching me now?
Phil Lindsey  7/18/15

Tell me about the galaxies you had to cross to get here, about the beds you slept in before mine. Remind me that my life was something you grabbed up like raindrops in a drought.

Birthed at the center of my soul
You are my very heart
You are the seed of compassion
And the water with which it blooms

Birthed at the center of my soul
You open the window of joy
And close the doors tinged blue
A teacher of spirits, of freedom

Birthed at the center of my soul
Your kindness bleeds into me
Saturating my casing
Rendering me tender, despite myself

Birthed at the center of my soul
We became...as intended
Entire beings
Flowing between a unified spirit
Connected now as then

Birthed at the center of my soul