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 Jun 2013 Denise G
Carmen Noir
We would meet most Sunday mornings,
always before 10 o'clock, when the dew from the night before
was still blanketing the grass
and the birds were still sleeping silently,
the trees cracking as they awakened from their slumber
and fog still hanging above the air like a burden.

We would meet outside of the public house,
a sign of green metal with gold lettering hung just outside
the door, welcoming cyclists and families;
advertising their beautiful beer garden which we would
often traipse through,
admiring the rose bush that the landlady planted some years ago,
and sometimes stopping to run our hands through the water
of the water feature which stood proudly in the corner.

Brick dust would hang about the air, as we perched our bodies
against the structure of the decaying wall outside the pub,
holding onto each other with our faces pressed incredibly close together,
your hands in my back pockets
and my lips pressed firmly to yours.

We'd often walk hand in hand,
passing dog walkers and old couples, who would
smile and say 'good morning' to us before passing on their way,
and you'd always be so polite to them,
and offer them smokes.

You took me to a bench by Aubrey Pond one time;
and you sat with me, taking my hand in your own
and pressing your mouth to my cheek,
"darling there is something I must tell you"
you muttered
and for a moment my heart froze and my brow furrowed
"I leave tomorrow evening," you paused.
"I won't be back."

-

It is only now, that six full months have passed,
that I have stopped to notice the dew on the grass,
and the silence of the birds
and the cracking of the trees.

I no longer read the gold lettering of the metal sign
that hangs precariously just outside of the pub door,
advertising its awfully kept garden,
and rose bushes planted by a mad old woman,
who paid a small fortune for a badly placed water feature.

I no longer invite strangers to converse with me,
and I most certainly do not acknowlegde their kind words,
and I refuse to give them smokes.
The couples will sneer at me abnoxiously and they will be
shoved on their way,
as I stare bleakly at the ground on which I walk upon,
and scuff my feet against the ***** path of the
frightening woodland.

You took me to Aubrey Pond one time;
and you sat with me, taking my hand in your own
and pressing your mouth to your cheek.

And I never saw you again.
 Jun 2013 Denise G
eversoslowly
you
 Jun 2013 Denise G
eversoslowly
you
the sounds of earth move beneath my feet

dragging me down below

my hands scrapping at the floor

looking for something to keep me here

my arms losing strength

my back giving in

then the thought of you holds me still

allowing me to save myself

to come back for you
not necessarily a good poem
 Jun 2013 Denise G
MCKNZ
You are balding on the back of your head. I sort of like that.
You drink more alcohol than you should.
Your eyes grow to twice their size when you are excited.
You have four dimples.
You smile with your entire face. I really like that.
You have a body sculpted by the directors employed in Hollywood.
Your scar under your chin helps remind me that you are perfectly imperfect.

You will forever be: my prominent “what if”, my greatest regret, and my favorite “almost”.

-- -- --

You have a smile that could light up a stadium.
You sing off pitch to my favorite songs. But I do also.
You chew the inside of your cheek when you are nervous.
Your dancing needs work. We could take classes together.
You lie a lot.
Your father is your best friend, and I would love to meet him.
You are going to make a difference in this world, but you don’t realize that yet.

However for now, I know you are the one. The one I cannot have.
You don't need me
I don't need you
Those are obvious facts
None that were ever true
Remain persistent
Thoughts consistent
Where ever that went
It was time well spent
Not a moment too soon
Should I release my consent
I found it dwelling beneath
All of my black crude arrogance
Lays in the smoldering cinders
Of what once was our hope
No future between us
Only decades apart
Do we truly start crumbling apart
Decayed and blown ashes
We cross paths as dust
 Jun 2013 Denise G
Tea
Stinging.
I build myself up higher
Not even your fire can burn me down
Stone
Cold
Alone
But  alright
Fighting you
Fighting light
No fun while I’m young
Because I am a flower
I have to be picked
Picked because you admire
My sweet smell, color, desire
Nothing to eat
Process and excrete
Nothing to use
Then leave
******* and your kind
You make the world hard
Scared, battered and bruised
Lips like these will never please,
A stupid degenerate like you.

*Sad thing is I have never let boys like that in, but they still break my heart. They let something turn them into a monster, tear them apart. You are worth being loved, but you feel its to far.
If words can make you immaculate
Then I will not speak for a thousand years.
Until I have captured enough of them
To stitch and wrap round your neck
Dangle down your chest.

It will be the colour of the sky, that thread
A pendant molded from the solitude of the clouds at night.
Drifting and swirling and wavering then bursting
Countless incoherent constellations.
They will be scattered on your hair and shoulder,
those stars.

When people fall in love,
They write poetries.
Perhaps,
a little like this.

— The End —