Now at 3:25 a.m.
All that matters to me
Is how your lips would feel
If they were slowly dancing with mine
How your skin would feel
If it were underneath my fingertips
And imagining the way your hands
Would curl around mine in the dark.
At 3:25 a.m. my mornings
Used to be dark and lonely
Cold and empty.
But this is what happens
When you fall in love
You trade in that loneliness
For a garden of daisies
Because if they like daisies, you like daisies.
And suddenly all that matters
Is watering that garden
And watching it grow
And praying a drought won't appear
Because at 3:25 a.m.
You're the entire world to me
And I don't want it any other way

t.n.

Supine, wrapped in scarlet,
only eye open, third.

I create her skin, flawless and golden;
her hair becomes the color of midnight
on the ocean,
blood at night.

Suspended, bound in purple,
capitulation, freedom.

These lonely visions, they are cobblestones in my twisted path of memories both past and future, overgrown with weeds of time and worn around the edges; an uneven course winding in and around and back again, with branches, heavy and black,
so black,
on all sides.

Where are you, dearest?

I smell acrylics and oils and linseed
and the windows are open; traffic hums on the hill and your brow is furrowed as your brush caresses the canvas, each stroke, love manifest.

Later, you will sing for me

Fluid, mercurial, she sings and paints
and broods
and pouts
and wipes her cheek with her thumb, smearing alizarin crimson on her pixie face.


Time stops at her beauty

The moment falls into my guts, burrowing into
my insides forever;
the plants by the window,
the deep red smear on my angel,
the sound of camelhair hitting canvas, forever mine now
to cherish and carry
with me as I trudge this
desolate and dreary landscape.

*When I come home,
you will sing for me

I've never been
or ever will be
worth the risk