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Emma Apr 2013
I’ve always meant to sit by the sea and write you a letter
I would acknowledge the setting
(maybe of the sun and the tables outside a restaurant)
I would try to capture the sun-soaked skin and those visionary
sparkles of the sea
Which exist only between blinks
I would try to capture them for you.
I know I'll never send this, there is
No coffee cup beside me; no seagulls
are chirping within my reach
The only saltwater streams down my cheeks
Without the idyllic canvas is it worth anything?
All love gives me now is
the stabbing and wrenching of my heart.
I wrote a letter last year
after tossing and turning.
It's much too late to send
Dead ink on a Christmas card months past its
expiration date
never left the box in my shelf
You never broke your promises, you never kept them either
So what example was I left to follow?
I wonder if I would recognize you
through a stethoscope.
Did I lie?
If I cannot remember I don’t expect you to.
I wonder if your mind ever wanders far enough
(mid-song, mid-tossing and -turning)
to reach me
to write me a letter
Another that you’ll never send
...or perhaps they are all unwritten
even worse; unthought
I wonder if you would recognize me
through a stethoscope.
More like spilling out thoughts than a poem - wrote this a long time ago at around 3 am
Emma Apr 2013
Punctuate me.

Let me feel complete, let me feel something other

than floating words trying to fathom themselves into sentences.

Am I here? I am here.

Let me know whether I am the question or the statement.

Be the knot in my otherwise loose laces, be the map to my otherwise lost path, be

what binds the notes together into a streaming song.

You are here. Are you here?

Let me know whether you are the question or the statement.
Emma Apr 2013
(i)
First gaze: the arms of your waves
choke me
I swallow an abyss of blue.
Just as I am about to hit the bottom
your voice brings me up, an anti-gravity
I float up to the surface
Starry, starry night
I realize that stars come from waves of the deep, blue, endless
  o                 e                 n               a               c    
                c                a                n                e                o
created by refracting rays of light from the sun, the real sun, a sun
I had never seen before
Some of the saltwater is trapped in my lungs,
fingers of light poke their way into me
I am shining with brilliance
the burning glow seeps through skin, bones and heart,
while your hands carry me, tenderly embracing.

(ii)
You told me to forget, so I forgot myself.
as soon as I stopped looking at the hourglass
the words evaporated out of me.
I watched as my condensed
voice spiraled up into the air - silencing me
during sleep a cloud appeared
above me;  the sponge absorbed
my vaporized words.
it didn't take long
(the sand had not hit the bottom yet)
for the cloud to grey

(iii)
Rainballoons burst
onto the street of regret
The scabrous asphalt glistens
memories of unspoken emotions
(like the sweet touch of your gaze)
flash by as lightning strikes
... the only illumination here.
Emma Apr 2013
(I)
watched – the trees sliding past – us
blur into each other.
Rush, rush, rush
said the air
as we approached the horizon
The sky was an opaque grey;
(looked) like a cement wall.
I imagined an invisible giant placing the earth into a concrete box.
I wondered if I had ever been
a blur in(to) the scenery – (the sky) –
for someone watching me through a car window.
What was meant to be a comforting hand on my shoulder (instead)
felt stiff and contained, it felt like
fingers – were – made (of) plastic
I wondered if
parts of me were perhaps stuck
on a landscape like smeared paint
– mistakes –
I wondered if (you) my love
had ever driven past me.
If the title hasn't hinted enough
-> read the poem as it is
-> (read only what is inside the brackets)
-> – read only what is between the dashes –
-> eliminate the dashes and brackets (or if you want, eliminate only the dashes, then only the brackets, then both)

Hope you enjoy it
Emma Dec 2012
It is raining Chopin
Reminding me that together we are an arpeggio
Alone, I am played in legato
I plant myself in every horizon and
at one end of each rainbow; the other end belonging to somebody else.
I watch the clock and can tell it is 8:00 when the train passes
but I can’t see the hands move.
It is 2012 not because of the fireworks in
limbo between December and January, but because
I can feel the red yarn in me tightening –
I have less.

— The End —