along emilys hill road
the trees are bare

she's skipping stones
across st martens creek

as she turns
smiling my name

her breath comes out
white clouds
mingles
and hangs in the air

the quiet
stillness
in her eyes

she sees something
in me
that I can't
see

and that s why
i love her so



emilys hill road
unchanged

the trees are bare

she's skipping stones
across
st. martins creek

I believe that's the way
I remember her best

Late night texts
Sleepy eyes
Small smiles
Butterflies

Stolen moments
Held inside
Beating heart
Stupefied

~

Left alone
Tear filled eyes
Chapped lips
Scarred thighs

Empty promises
Cast aside
Broken heart
Terrified

~j.l.

jack-frost blue on snow white
circles of grey around midnight black
against the velvet night sky
the silent constellations
i fell
and fell
and fell

i bathed in your irises
but my feet couldn't reach the bottom
and when i tried to surface
the air was frigid
slicing my consciousness into ribbons
i took a breath
the chill seeped in
first it was my toes
then my legs
my stomach
my fingers
my arms
my chest

then you blinked
the ice fractured
and i
i shattered from the inside
out

your eyes look like sunset today

Snow arrived,
quite suddenly.
The city fell
to silence:
softness flurried,
whiteness spread.
Our footsteps
punched a rhythm:
crisp heel, crisp toe.
Steaming cars slid past
in slush, peeling back
the long black road.
The trees drooped:
tears splattered on
the streets, but
still my heart
lay cold.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.