Bicycles and icicles remind me of you.


Cold winter nights
                     feel warm,
              just with the thought of
                            You.

You send my mind
                round and round,
   while you peddle to find solid ground.

Bicycles and icicles don't go well together,
                                          neither do you or me.


But that wont keep me from thinking of you.

Incomplete is my love for you,
always longing for more to hold onto.

Incomplete is the way I see the world
so many corners , doors and windows not explored.

Incomplete is the way you smile,
lies told dancing across your lips.

Incomplete is the cold wind,
stalling the snow stealing the leaves.

Incomplete are my hands,
gaping holes between my fingers.

Incomplete is the night,
sleep lost on its journey.

Incomplete is this poem,
for your eyes may see it, but your heart will never know it.

The smell of tires and overheated air hits us like confetti pieces as if we've just won the Superbowl.

This is how I choose to remember you.

This was the beginning to our "adventures", hours lost aimlessly wandering down aisles. The list mom wrote, neatly tucked away in the bottom of one of our pockets, whoever she deemed more responsible that day.

Our bellied laughs would bellow clear over the bird feeders, past the flannel lined jeans, and beyond the orange slice candies.

We taught ourselves a new language. One when spoken, always accompanied with a flimsy tongue. One when spoken to anyone but you was just babble.

In this place, we found life without a limit. One where dancing among the Harley Davison vests was acceptable. One where testing the army surplus metal helmets only seemed logical.

We found a place where you didn't have to grow up, time stopped.

For us, we found a place that created equals of us.

These memories, like words stored in dictionaries, are stored in the pages of my mind. On lonely days I visit them, flipping pages, finding your voice, your smile and your silly dance. They echo off the walls of my memories.
                                 and when I open my mouth to echo back it sounds like this :


                                                             ­   Fli
                                                          ­                  Flove
                                                                ­                                Flou

Written with my dearest Dane Johnson


This grove of insanity, perhaps it is that you wish to get lucky?
We walk hand in hand. Luck, being so subjective we forget to define.
Ultimatums come hitherto, I'm afraid your luck has run dry.
I can't buy any more time to convince you or I that someday we may see eye to eye.
My, oh my, please don't cry.

Who's really winning when everyone's sinning?
Yet the world keeps on spinning to our wrecked hearts.

I crave the fire and yet don't like to get burned.
As we undress, we softly caress our scars.
We avoid the  pain by closing our eyes,
but it's something we both can't stop feeling.
And yet we continue invariably denying.

And the silence we share speaks more words than would be divulged had we done otherwise.

The words sent in secret go unnoticed by everything, but my heart has made it difficult to look in the mirror and see the beauty of anything we ever had.

Mirrors show nothing of the pain that pictures do, because then I have to see your shining face with your sparkling eyes, always your eyes.

But you never felt the tears that fell from them. We don't know the touch of each others pain.

Your pained words take on more than you are. And yet we find peace at lust's end. And it is with that end that we are no more.

We've known all along that all we have ever wanted to be is more than the silence that echos in the sliver of space left between our fast beating hearts. I could see it in your eyes when you forgot to guard the doors in.

And now my door opens to a new light.
Silence is golden, but what was once sliver could become silver, oh so easily.

However lighthearted pennies are,
the trouble is not worth the pain.
*She smiles quietly watching him walk away from penny lane.

I speak not of peaches, chapstick, sunrises or fallen nights.
(K)nights fought over love never found.

A(r)mor rusted over from her tears,
He always like to jump through puddles, watching the wake.

sometimes it woke his fears.




Monsters under the bed.
If only he could cross the room he’d be
      safe (-ly
                                                                                      locked away,
he lost the keys to
  the him he used to be.)


I speak not of burning trees or cherry seeds ( planted down the lane)

I've surrendered to the (k)night
but with one last thought,
I know I can win the fight.

Your fingerprints are all around me, making it hard for me to see my own.
Like permanent scars they define us, written in words we don't understand.
I could follow your trail from my hips to my feet, caught around my ears, they drift across my nose.
My own can be traced to the place where confusion starts and stops.
Secrets lie in their curves.
Stronger than their definition is our desire.
Fingerprints.

My fingers
stopped spilling
the words my mind
was spinning because of *you.

Tickle of throat.
Trickle of thought.
You leave me distraught.

Our childhoods lay out between us,
Like games we pretend to play.
Pieces lost under your bed.
Cards crafter unconsciously into makeshift chaos.
Somehow this was enough.

That was before; when goodnight wasn’t as simple as two words stung loosely together from start to star until it hung silently over our heads.
No, it used to be spelled out in whole solar systems maped out in secret between us.
Escape wasn’t the door you walked out of.
It was a door we swung open and ran into.
I used to watch you blink.
Gusts of wind sending waves
across your blue eyes.

I was convinced that somehow we were pure

I remember sitting on my mother’s lap once.
She whispered
“One say you’re going to outgrow my lap”
I quickly promised back
“We will always fit”

I thought that we were one of those promises.


I waited for you to hang the moon and wake the sun.

Time ran through your veins.
You effortlessly used it.
It echoes through the place I would never belong.

{shoot the moon}

My heart takes a leap my head isn't ready for.


My minds dug down deep.


Its a steep mountain I'm climbing.

Our fights made us stronger until they broke us.

tonight i know it all has to being with the end

we'll start again


from the beginning where it doesn't hold us,
 and it hasn't molded us into something we're not.


our story's twisted, wrinkled,
 flipped, and folded
 its hard to hold our mistakes on the paper.
 so lest just let it spill of the pages, back to the ages they belong.

We'll start again

from the beginning where it doesn't hold us,
 and it hasn't molded us into something we're not.

Lingering touch, you know far too much to mean nothing.
Your words are fatal, ******* me into the middle, driving their implications into my thoughts.
Labeling movements, define our lies, making false truths.
I search for you in my anger, not looking far, knowing you are out of my reach.
Our apologies like hymns are recited everyday.
Like fire in brush, this all happens in a hush.

Our Last.


We promised,


Shook hands,


"we are done".

But with one more wish:

A last kiss.



In this moment,

the one we both knew was wrong,

something felt right.


Was is the acceptance of the end,
or the awakening of something different,
softer?

In that one moment,

the kiss,

I was swept off my feet,

with some kind of reassurance.


Was it recognizing the end,
or finding the whole reason it started?


We danced,

quietly,

in a way we never had.



There was some sort of control.




I could spend thousands of words,
trying to figure the feeling.
But i know that to you,
The kiss,
was The end.

Wondrous worry wisps through you wavy hair.
                          


                                                                             Enter your thoughts?
                                                      




                                                                                                                                  I do not dare.

the word floods my mouth as a mix of hurt and anger.

i try to reverse it, but its too hard to swallow.

i stand on my head, hoping that the word might just slip out,

but the ones i've reserved for worthier people are starting to shake loose.

i eat spoonfuls of kind thoughts, but they get all ******* in knots.

****        y

                                        o
­

              


                                              ­                                                                 ­ u  


i can breathe again.

I waited for him that Fall. I stood right where he left me waiting for him to come back.
    The path pulled the leaves over it, preparing for the cold winter. I tried to remember what it looked like, your foot prints next to mine.
                               Spring came... you didn't.
     I waited as long as I could, wishing, hoping, praying that the words you whispered, that had long ago blown away in the wind had gotten caught in the trees. That the rain might bring them back to me.
     I held my breath every time a bird sung, not wanting to miss its song in case it was the one you sang to me.
     At nigh I laid under the stars watching them, the only witnesses . I wanted them to shine your name, point me in your direction, just replay me what they saw if that's all I could have .
     I touched the tree you first kissed me under, placing my hands, my fingers where yours were the last time you kissed me.
     I waited well into summer hoping that you just couldn't find the path, that new flowers and grass had grown over it , that the dry river we walked had filled...
             only to find the leaves changing again, the path covering, everything turning cold.

Have you ever known me to hold my silence?




I call into the light night.
               I beg for the sky to pull down its shades.

   Pain like this shouldn't be painted on the light purple sky.

Anger like this shouldn't fall so gracefully, so pure, so...
                                                                                          


                                      clean.






I try again. This time
                    Closing my eyes.
                              

                                I paint my sky dark,
                        forgetting the holes to heaven.
I let my anger fall heavy mixing with all the mistakes
                               I've brushed off like dust.





But when I open my eyes
nothing
has changed.




And as the soft wind
wanders around me without a care.

I swear I hear it tell me

                                                                                "some things never will."

Sharp like scissors you cut her with words.

Your anger strikes her, but softly,
But to  me they are far worse than the excuse.


Silence is your only excuse.



Please, remember her brown curls and baby face when you  put her in your place.
Friendship like this is hard to replace.

Your feet have walked far distances we can't see.
None of us are what we used to be.

Feel, and don't forget.
For sometimes, words unsaid are what we regret.

I can only spend do much time trying to see the world through your eyes.


These words,
twist from her shallow breath around her fingers.


The mark the world left on her,
she tries to recreate over and over again.


We posses little power in this world, but what we do, is strong.


She holds he hands out to the world wearing her scars,
cupping the next moment like it’s her next breath.


She does this out of necessity.
Her heart beat fills the silence.
She drains the gold from the sky with quiet clicks.



She catches lost words off of the wind, and captures them through her own.

its easy to see where ive been.
i leave trails of crooked prints.

the dust i kick up take the form of the lost hope.
it hangs in the air waiting for me to come back.

my long lost cries that shattered the air are left as pieces,
they disgues them self as petals that gave into the wind.

quite eyes can see me running.

its easy to see where im going.

Winter night of delight, why do you deceive me.
As morning breaks, dawn takes my last regrets.
Setting sun, let things be done, let your words not forsake me.
Drifting dreams,rip at the seams.
Our lies drift from the skies.

Your words twist on the page
                     Tangling my thoughts

Your fingers tangled in mine
                     Twist the very definition of who we are

Define "us"
    
This may be the last word you have yet to master
                      Followed closely by love, living, and disaster

Silent screams echo in the silence.
                                    Broken wings have forgotten how to fly.
                                                         I’ve lost myself somewhere between your blue eyes and the ocean,
                                                                                                                                                   are they not the same?

There are small imperfections in the way you move.
You have bent elbows that will not straighten, always looking for something to wrap around.
Your fingers will trace, across every line, and every place, but they don’t leave any marks.
There are hiccups in your speech, they leave gaping holes where you thoughts echo for no one to hear.
You step cautiously , your feet not quite hardened. They never seem quite as strong as they need to be to take you where you thing you belong.
Your eyes blink more than mine, releasing images you want left behind.
But your feet will take you where you belong. when you get there you won’t need to blink, you’ll close your eyes. Your thoughts wont echo, they will spill. And when you trace you’ll find the empty space of your bent elbow where only a few inches up there is proof you can’t deny.

Morning dew falls,
tears from the stars.

The coyotes call still echos.


The moment i tried to capture ,
the night before,
stained slanted on old paper,
is smeared.

Its a reminder from the night that some things should be left alone.
Secrets of the night.
                                      
The morning still feels like night.

[sometimes its too hard to decipher between wrong and right.]


When i close my eyes i cant tell the difference.
What is it about sight that feels the need to divide two things that are much the same into things so vain?

[how can two things feel the same but be different?]

Nothing changes between the dark and light.