His hands
The perfect shape
Broken
Scarred
Rough

Warm

It's never happened
It probably never will
But,
I know they'll fit

My hand
His hand
Together
Intertwined

With hope, forever

My hands are as broken as I am
The nails chipped, not healing
The pearl shine shimmer peeling
The cuts on them still bleeding


n.v.

In your eye a shutter-spark that catches
my gaze like a passing street lamp
driving in the rain - it’s refraction
drifting in and out until it’s a flash-bulb
burned in my eye. A flash-bulb, lightning,
sewing the skies and growing beauty in depths
and molding itself to veins. Veins that burn
into the friction of my
sporactic chest - a catalyst.

A catalyst that ignites my gaze
and inflames my ribs,
it beckons your breath -
warm against my ear.
A breathing,
a comfort,
like the softness of the light in winter;
where the clouds draw like curtains
and you hold onto me.

A moment of hesitation in breath,
And I continue to falter.
You scare words from my ribs
And I fear you. You to make me a convict
of my indecision.

Still – barred - paused in frequency.

I am a beacon
For chaos and disorder.
Tempests and storms
Seem to gravitate towards me
And lost souls
Treading solemn paths
Always manage to find themselves
In my company
Ruin and carnage surround me,
Shattered parts of abandoned dreams
And the wreckage of sorrow
All head towards my light.
I do not want to be a beacon
I do not want to bring hurricanes
Into the lives of people I love
But this chaos, this waste,
Clings closer to me
Than my shadow.