The sheets move, forming waves in this ocean. A deep breath, a morning sigh at an hour that's neither rise nor set.

White snow on pillow but this skin is warm. Heartbeat, strong like a hiccup, feel it in my throat. A deep scratch on the forearm to arrive in the present. These dreams still tug at me, another breath, another breath.

Sit up dark, regardless if eyes open or shut. Chin to the ceiling, sweat moves along the back, like a ghost drawing a map. The beasts await patiently, your turn, return.

Onto naked skin, I slip on this erudite armor once again. Trembling, I fall back into the battlefield.

Soft, gentle fur and I hope I write this legibly when I’m ninety. Will I make it to ninety?

My cat insists and purrs with comfort as I think of growing old. It’s too long, breath isn’t meant to hold this many memories, yours and strangers’. I grumble.

Does she dream like me? Would I purr if I slept soundly like her, with so very few needs during the hours of wake.

She watches me often, as if she knows, smirks and goes back to sleep leaving me an envious creature.

Volatile nerves tremble and skin is raised, reaching.

I find an eyelash that clings, his gentle fingers are hard, gentle, never weak.

He blinks and so does the camera and I’m still, a breath caught within infrared.

There are trees, leaves that delight as I eavesdrop in their chatter. I touch the bark, pretend to not see the scars. I whisper for permission to leave a secret. D plus E.

The soft fur warms my skin, while taking a deep breath of December air.

I look out into the mist, the mountains are playing hide and seek again out in the distance.

I’m watching him let out a sigh from the corner of my eye, making me want to rush in and catch it, with my mouth. He smiles, knows I’m daydreaming of him again.

I look back at the mountains and feel at a loss somehow, perhaps nature doesn’t like letting go either, an uncomfortable slumber of cold mementos and frozen earth. Time feels like it’s standing still, and in this moment my favorite part is holding his hand, knowing he wants to hold mine, firmly.

Look up, Love. Atoms are dancing, colliding and painting the sky.

Palms together, the cold air settles slowly but with purpose and clothes me in goosebumps. I haven’t worn a watch in years, don’t need to know what time it is, know my heart is about to stop. The wallcreepers are on the move, feathers flee into the mist.

The wind seeks my attention, wants to dry the tears as I huddle but I won’t fight the strain. This mountain is familiar and I count cracks upon the skin on my wrists, assessing age that of a tree, rings now too many. Smirking while in search of the great white titan, taller than any sequoia.

The sun is prowling, scouting for a Tricity born tellurian playing hide and seek for yet another day. I jump and for a solid moment I feel an emptiness, an ethereal weight, I gasp and try again, gasp, try… sigh…

Czytać nadzieje w poezji jest dużo jak rozumieć niebieski kolor w niebie,
ona czuje, zna ten perfum, co nie może sama sobie kupić.

Ten wiatr ciągnie, utrzymuje ale nic ujawnia,
koty marzą, a ona ciągle czyta te same książki.

Szuka ten kolor wszędzie, jej farby nigdzie nie pasują,
wysyła pocztówki do siebie z miejsc nieznanych z których
zawsze pamięta dziękowac za piwo.

Lata idą, a ona powtarza sie, ciągle zapomina patrzyć na dół,
nieobecna że niedługo ominie go.

"Slowly"

Reading hope in poetry is much like understanding the blue in the sky,
she feels, knows this perfume, that she can't afford to buy on her own.

This wind pulls, maintains but doesn't reveal,
cats dream, she still reads the same books.

Searches for this color everywhere, her paint doesn't match anything,
she sends out postcards to herself from unknown places from which
she always remembers to thank for the beer.

Years go by, she repeats herself, still forgetting to look down,
unknowing that soon she'll pass him by.

She is my maiden of truth
in the born tissue of nature.
She keeps me shimmering and clean
from the misfortunes of life.
Beautiful to a point when the sun is my sister.
She, who glares seeks answers in me.
I, who have neither time nor breath
will manifest her mortifying mouth and shape.
She stays with me all day, keeps me company,
I adore until he…

He comes only when the sun is set high,
when souls are free and water translucent.
He holds her hand and kisses the lips
that will never be mine.
She sees me yet not.
I see, cannot escape the shades my sister makes in revenge.
I can’t help but see the echo.
I cannot listen to the moans that should have been mine
and the body touched by me, I shatter

The villain leaves her lonesome.
I am to pick up her pieces, be strong for her.
Tell me, is this fair, reflection is my only caress,
she will not grant my wishes…shatter me.
Pain with the withering skies of my cousins,
she’s crying, torture of eye.
Let the leaves go, my friends, comfort me,
am I the only one?
She sits there alone thinking of him while I look at her.
Sometimes she comes close, looks at me and cries,
she touches my chest, I shiver,
I wish my mind could escape and explain all I feel.

On the 13th of snows she looked at me for the last time.
She gave me her blood as she angered and
broke me to pieces. I will never see the whole of her again,
all I see now are bits of a past I longed for…
She never sees me anymore but I adore
and I hear the endless moans of the villain
filling my reflection…

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