You gave me yourself
as sedative dose
to put my poetry
to rest.

Now a need is felt
for regular booster doses
to resume my poetry
since I found
you yourself
as the poetry

She loved to dance,
the music didn't matter much
It was the feeling,
freedom, surrendering,

I think it was a way of communicating for her
A switch of the hips,
tap of the foot or snap of the wrist 
Illustrated her innermost feelings

I could never read dance
So for me it was only ever an obscure but intimate moment shared

Spoken words are my tools and I amplified my pointed but spinning feelings often and in person,

With no music playing, no time to reflect or poetry to serve as a conduit,
She would freeze and struggle in the immediacy of my spoken words,

These tools constructed small wonders leaving her still
For all the wrong reasons

Dissonance grew beneath the roof of these wonders
Breaching the walls,  
always at nightfall,

We were slaves to our mediums
Our mediums enslaved us
 
She never knew the steps I was shuffling in were mimicking hers,
I didn't know the routine and her music muffled my words leaving them weak, 

Hindsight, reason and honesty our last chance to dance and speak.

My heart beats, ”I love you” in morse code
And it skips a few when you

Graze your hand against my cheek
When your toes tickle my feet

You’ve got three freckles on you collar bone
That I never get tired of counting

You touch me like rain in sunny weather
You’re the grass I lay in to look at the sky

You’re the summit I reached to breach cloud nine
You’re the sun rise of my life

I never thought I’d be one to write love songs
But it’s all I do when I stroll on my own

July 8th became, and will forever and ever
be my favorite date

We kissed before we ever spoke
the words “hello”, “how are you?”

“Do you like music?”; “Do you like to travel?”
“What’s your favorite color?”; “What’s your favorite weather”

We were unconventional right from the start
and I heart our unconventional love

Butterflies still flutter out of my mouth
they flooded my stomach when I first cast my eyes

On you, it was just from behind
then we locked our eyes and love suddenly bloomed

Dear, every thought of you is music
and I love to blink
So I can glimpse at the mural of you
I’ve painted inside

*My heart beats, ”I love you” in morse code
And I know I hear yours beating it too

across a giant black sea
full of insecurity
there lies a town
loved by many
but cherished by me

i often stare
at the beaming city lights
reflected by a giant black sea
keeping you, away from; me
leaving me, blushing sighs

if not a boat, if not a bird
is willing to  take me straight to eagerness
swimming will do
maybe dying too
maybe too
too
.

i love you

Dear reader,


Reno doesn't smoke and it's a relief because I'd rather my smile stop her heart than a Malboro. I told her that and she considered never talking to me again because of how corny I was being. If anything, I'm glad she doesn't smoke because her teeth are as white as the snow suffocating the landscape. She asked me if I ever smoked a cigarette and I said no, because my hands would start to tremble at the idea of picking up another of one my father's habits.

We walked in the snow and, three steps and two breaths in, she asked me to stop. Reno bleeds other's blood, and it showed when she dug her hands into the snow to reveal a dog's frozen carcass.

"I saw the tip of his tail sticking out of the snow." She studied the dog's body and brushed some snow off of it's side. There was a wound, the size of a child's fist. Frozen blood stained matted fur, as the front and back legs seemed miles part. "He must have been so cold."

"Someone shot him," I looked at her, as a strand of blond hair cut her face in half when she turned to me.

"He doesn't have a collar...  I know what it's like to not have a home, too," she whispered to him.

I watched her, with her knees in the snow, cry. The tears slid down her cheek when she asked me if I thought that the dog's owner killed him.

"I don't know, Reno. I hope not."

She took off her left glove and wiped her face with a pinkish hand.  She turned to me,"Do you think my dad would **** me, if he could?"



The tree branches hung over the blanketed path, as clumps would fall off and plop frostbitten kisses on the bright, eggshell ground. Eventually we reached the grave of Hilary.

Hilary Natasha Drake
Born October 12, 2001
Died December 8, 2007
May God grant you access into his kingdom
as easily as he granted you access into our hearts.

"She was beautiful," Reno smiled, before she looked away. "My mother would always say, 'Hilary, don't you know how pretty you'll be?' ...She had these lily green eyes that lit up a room-I could have swore that she stole them from the garden of Eden. She was sweet, too. Too sweet. Too kind-hearted."

I felt my hand tighten, as I looked down to see Reno's fingers wrapped around me. Her eyes were holding hostage a flood, as her lip quivered as much as her voice.

"In nine minutes, it will be the anniversary of when we lost her. It was just too much for her and I understand, Hilary. I do.

"It ate her body and wouldn't stop. Every day she seemed thinner and thinner. I remember when she lost her hair. Hilary didn't want to wear a bandana or a cap. I asked her why and she said, 'There's nothing wrong with not having hair, pappy does it all the time.'

"She was so strong, Josh. Stronger than me. Stronger than my dad. When she died, the hospital bills and funeral expenses were too much. We lost everything. My dad lost himself.

"Then, my mother left when his drinking got bad... It was the night before Valentine's day. I remember because I was given so many flowers. I didn't understand why because flowers die, too.

"My mother didn't even say goodbye. She left the photo albums. I never got to say goodbye to her or Hilary and it's not fair because I love them so much. I love them more than anything."

Reno couldn't erupt into tears like they could in the movies. This was the scene where she was supposed to cry uncontrollably or have an epiphany that could alleviate the loss, but neither occurred.

"There's one thing I want you to know, Josh: You can't save me. Don't try, okay? Please, do not try to fix the broken pieces because you'll only cut yourself.

"But there's also another thing I want you to know: You can be there, as I fix myself. I want you to be there."

I looked at her and told her I wanted to be there too.

I think I understand why Reno doesn't smoke, now. The idea of possibly giving herself cancer, when it already has taken away everyone she loves, would take something away from Hilary's fight and only add to Reno's loss.

"I can cry over a dog, but not my sister," she whispered. Reno wiped her nose, looked at me and said, "Am I too much yet?"

"Of course not."



Sincerely,

Joshua Haines

I want to ingest your soul
because feeling whole isn't enough
on the outside

I'm tweaking for a kiss
Shooting up your touch
It's my version of a crutch

The approach of dawn
and the chilly cold breeze,
the languid movement of trees
and the dance of bush
underneath.

The shroud of stars
covering the sky
and the proudish gaze of moon
appreciating self
on the lake mirror with a fetish eye.

The small grains of sand
moving steadily
as though musical piano keys
hugging each other
to generate the rhythmic tease.

The wind blowing tardily
flows through the alley of mystic mountains
rendering a slow and steady euphony
into thou's veins like a fountain.

Such was the beauty of those nights
miles away from home
into the arms of nature
and the perfect company
longing from years,
marks the beginning
of the best days
coming in the near future.

In the midst of a bright day
when sky gets covered up with dark clouds
it jeopardizes the well beings
of daily nuances.

But they fail to realize
that until you don't witness the darkness
you don't tend to appreciate
the beauty of the bright rays
peeping from behind the dark clouds

The mesmerizing rays
touches the soul skin deep
refreshes the senses
reclaims the victory of life
regenerates the novelty
and preserves the energy
to face another dark phase

I did knock the tree trunk
Harder and harder,
as though i am a woodpecker.
in search of something inside it
and to ask the question
But what i get,
is not an answer,
but a few dried leaves
waiting to fall on me and die on the ground.

I did throw pebbles
on the banks of a river
Farther and Farther,
in the quest of something below the water
to ask the question.
But what i get
is not an answer,
but a splash of tiny drops
waiting to touch my skin and get dried up.

I did run in the direction of the wind
Faster and faster
to defeat it, to stop it
and to ask the question
But what i get
is not an answer
but a heavy breathlessness
eating up my energy, and splashing the sweat all over.

And finally i did fight with God
and prayed with utter dedication
But I still don't get an answer
Because he says, the answer is within me
My conscience should answer and no one else.

He says: "Its alright not to know the answers
For they are meant to come to you
when you least expect them."