She walked in
And every
Unit of
Time and space
Became a
Concept
Of his
Imagination.

He looked
At her
Eyes
Wide open
Studying the
Female-like
Constellation
Starting
To form
Every single
Star
Colliding
Into another.

She was
Something
New
Pure
Shattered
And rebuilt
And he
Saw it
With eyes
Wide open.




-LynnAA

Fingernails claw at porcelain skin.
Furiously they scratch and scour.
Layer after layer I become unstuck.
Unravelled. Undone.
Picked at the seams.

I dig and I dig.
Hoping to find the piece of me you didn't like.
Or the piece of you in me that keeps me awake at night.

Nail on bone, I find ribcage.
I find the remnants of my incarcerated heart.
Too weak to set it free,
I leave it there, barely beating.
Helpless.
Some things should never be unearthed.

It's been a month
an entire month of doing abolutely nothing.
30 days and not once have I attempted to describe the texture of your hands on my skin or the sound of your voice.

The dark color of your eyes or the freedom that rests in the palms of your hands.
The feeling of being enfolded while being completely free in your arms.
The magic that lies at the end of your fingertips.

The sledgehammer rhythm of your heart and the peace it instills in mine.
the beauty of your smile and the gentle tone to your laugh.
Your lips warm and soft - a healing ritual when they meet mine.

All these things I have failed to describe, to write down - afraid to allow them to creep to the front of my mind and take over. Because that's what thoughts of you do - invade my mind and nestle into every nook and cranny of my ocean deep thoughts and troubles.

And now, I miss you.

You should know
That when you sleep
Angels dressed as drama queens
Come down to drink your gin
You can hear their wretched heels
Stomping over your cold dreams

ill
    at
        the
             thought
of
   her
        head
                 in
                     the
                          spot
where
           mine
                    ought
                               to
                                   be
but
      is
         not
                 -

pounding temples
angry god(s)
boom like thunder
in my skull
sleep evades me
it's you that saves me
but dear,
your absence is hell

-m.f.

torn jeans
dimples
station wagons
shifting eyebrows
eager hands

wry smiles
chapped lips
cheap beer
deep-set eyes
pirated music

hates his birthday
stoplight-kisses
star-gazing in cornfields
****** knuckles
broken minds

lanky limbs
poetry books
scruffy faces
jet-black coffee
calloused hands that still feel soft

adventurer's heart
jumping fences
midnight tokes
always gives you hickeys
always opens your door

worn sneakers
chewed pen caps
late for work
old windbreakers
dirt under his fingernails

omniscient smirks
expensive cologne
good intentions -
but is bad with goodbyes
hates himself for making you cry

broken cigarettes
aviator shades at night
a perpetually furrowed brow
and a laugh that sounds like autumn leaves as they crunch beneath your feet

m.f.

i don't want to smell alcohol
on your breath when you kiss me,
i want to taste the hours that you waited
and to feel how much you missed me.

i don't want to breathe in smoke
when i bury my face into your chest,
i want to hear your barely-beating heart
and feel it pulsate in the warmth of your flesh.

i don't want to see the moon & stars
swirl like diamonds against the onyx sky,
unless i can do so in the comfort of your arms
and have your fingers interwoven with mine.

i don't even want my morning coffee
unless you're the one that brings it to me,
having learned to make it just the way i like it
and committed my preferences to your memory.

i don't want sunrises or sunsets
if i can't watch them dance upon your skin,
or love you between dove-white sheets
on saturday mornings at half-past ten.

i don't want to see the day i become old & grey
an early grave i would sooner invite,
than to live to greet old age without you
by my side to guide me into eternal night.

- m.f.