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Mar 2011 · 599
Balooga.
HR Beresford Mar 2011
There was a planet within us
and a bridge between our minds,
two walls between our hearts. 
The echoes of our sighs 
bounced off of raindrops 
and soaked into oceans.
That cold morning my heart expanded, 
it tried to fit all of you inside
but your voice alone
filled it to the brim and
now these quiet nights
leave that pocket on my left hand side
aching for your love.
I've never been good at arithmetic
but you were more than fraction.
Infatuation is a slippery *****
and I've never been someone with traction.
© wordswithmypulse
Mar 2011 · 503
the world, one dwelling.
HR Beresford Mar 2011
I wish I could take hold of these words
and these letters
and mash them together
tie them together
use steel veins to chain them together
and create something so grotesquely beautiful,
something so dissonant and so lovely,
that the world would be shocked
into uncontrollable fits of laughter
and bouts of tears spurred by sudden shared sorrow and
love would roll over every hill and
seep into every brook
every vein in which infatuation was present
would glow
and we wouldn’t have the wear hearts on sleeves
or buy roses that cost extra with bows
or even use our vocal chords at all
because we would see it.
we would see it.
we would see the love,
see the moonstruck fools who make these worlds go ‘round.
and every single one of us
would light the night with affection.
carpe noctum, carpe amāre  
and it is during the nights where the inky vast dark floods my ear drums
that I want to dust off the shelves of my mind
and I want to find you there
want to find me there
I want to find everyone
and I want to grab them
and shake them
and wake them up
I want to them tell them where they were
I want to scream from the rooftops,
“HERE YOU ARE!! YOU ARE NOT LOST!!”
I want to give everyone the key to the room in my head
where they stay most nights
I want them to feel like they have a home
even if they already have a home
they can have a second home here
but I want everyone to have somewhere
they feel they belong
a place where they always know what the living room smells like
where the furniture welcomes them
where the stains have stories
that are full of hilarity and embarrassment that pales roses
I want everyone to know
that we are all home
if home is where the heart is
them home is where you are
your belongings are what you can carry
what you carry at all times
the words in your head
the flavors on your tongue
the patches of healed skin on your arms and legs and shoulders and elbows
the things you have seen
they are what you own
what no one can take from you
no matter where you live
where you reside
where you spend your days or nights
you are your home
Feb 2011 · 443
falling.
HR Beresford Feb 2011
so I think its time to come out and say it because I’ve been hiding behind other words all this time and I’ve been allowing my subconscious to do the speaking but the aching of my body with you so far away has sanctioned to me to gauge just how hard I’ve fallen for you. luckily there was you to break the fall and in your arms I know I’m safe and I have finally realized that this is what I have always been without I have always fallen alone. I have always ended up face to concrete but with only a nosebleed to show what occurred. I never imagined that to stumble doesn’t mean to injure and that to love doesn’t mean to empty the contents of my eleven ounce lifeline. a quiet passion sits at the soles of my feet, waiting for my pulse to speed waiting for my pulse to dole it out, limb by limb and vein by vein until I am flushed in the face and salty in the eyes. any thing in the world you could say and I listen as if I am being explained how to cure cancer or establish world peace. every second in the same with room is like a cycle of the sun and every minute spent in you arms the rest of the universe does not exist and the only language is hysteria and heart beats. and I have always been under the impression that love is something that you are and there are signs to coming to the conclusion that you’re in it but all at once I realized that I have always felt a pull towards you and that is must be love hauling me your way.
© wordswithmypulse
Feb 2011 · 570
speechless.
HR Beresford Feb 2011
its time to look away from you
as eye clenching
gut wrenching
and entrenching on my bottom lip as that may be
and look at me
from a new angle
from a you angle
from a due angle
because when my arms wrap around you
and your arms wrap around me
and our arms are wrapped around each other
I want to make the world stop
but I don't need to
it already does
and I never ever want it to end
and I feel selfish
and I feel hungry
and I feel thirsty all at once
all at once I am
not me
but someone who loves you
seized by the affection that has paralyzed by body
I am a patient
with no patience
and I am poet
without words
© wordswithmypulse
Feb 2011 · 2.0k
affectionate opticals.
HR Beresford Feb 2011
Love is like putting on a new pair of glasses.
But not realizing you're wearing them.
Until it registers that you are looking at small things in big ways.
© wordswithmypulse
Feb 2011 · 1.3k
influence.
HR Beresford Feb 2011
when I see you
I want to strum a chord
water flowers
make footprints in the sand
when I see you
I want to write write write
and let the silence of my vocal chords
make room for truth
when I see you
I want to create something beautiful and lasting
to show the world what its missing if it doesn't know you
to fill every moment that lacks eye contact with warmth
when I see you
I want to configure a new word
a word no one has heard or read
but everyone has felt and attempted to explain
when I see you
I want to see you
with your eyes and my eyes
window through window
to try the depths of our increasingly less imaginary story
when I see you
I want to paint a portrait of my heart
only using every shade you've caused me to blush
and pin that canvas to my sleeve
when I see you
I want to fill my lungs with oxygen and you
allowing the pressure on my ribcage
to prove this is real
© wordswithmypulse
Jan 2011 · 613
look(in)g
HR Beresford Jan 2011
look into those windows and see inside yourself.

look into the living room and see that beating valve which has taken the place of a couch.

look into the chimney and see those reels of dream turn to ash.

look into your hands and see the gears, the gears, the gears.

look into your ears and see the words that were rejected by your membranes.

look into your stomach and see the insecure skeletons.

look into your sequined brain and see the chemicals, the chemicals, the chemicals.
© wordswithmypulse
Jan 2011 · 1.1k
exploration.
HR Beresford Jan 2011
I want to hear the words
that come out of your mouth.
I wish I could see them forming in your brain
then coming out a little south.
I would crawl into that cranium
and be surrounded by your deliriums.
I would stroll around your memories.
knock on doors that lead to your own realities;
the malleable perceptions that you resort to during deflections.
I want to see what you see
and hear sounds through your ears.
I want your nerves to be mine,
get familiar with your gears.
I want to know the back of your hand
like I know my own.
But I wont enter your heart.
No, I'll leave that alone.
The asylum for your darkest parts is not mine to rearrange.
Nor would I if I could, there's not a thing that I would change.
© wordswithmypulse

— The End —