I remember that night so clearly
How the moonlight lit up our faces and left freckles on our cheeks,
How the breeze left us shivering on the outside, but on the inside we were glowing,
How the music became background noise to inside jokes and whispered secrets,
How our eyes gleamed with a love too deep for our mouths to speak,
How we made plans for the future and how we wished they could come true tomorrow.
I remember it all so well,

Your words held me even when your arms couldn’t.
Your promises showed me that I had finally found shelter.
In the darkness of the night, there was only radiant light.

You keep saying to stop apologizing for leaving.
"It’s okay", you forgive me, "it’s alright", you forgive me.
How many times will it take before I realize that maybe I should be apologizing to myself?
Maybe my worst sin wasn't walking away from you,
maybe my worst sin was walking away from myself.

The only peace I find these days are in the middle of a storm;
I know it sounds weird.
Everybody begins running inside but it brings me peace finally knowing the only storm isn’t the one raging inside of me,
at least for a few minutes.
I see the rain start filling the streets and I can finally take a deep breath because I’m not the only one drowning anymore,
at least for now.
Everybody starts making preparations and stocking up on items and for once, I’m not the only one going through the motions in order to be okay.

I'm dreaming of the way your body fits with mine
and the way your hands so easily tangle in my hair.
I’m dreaming of your kisses across my collarbone
and your fingertips trailing down my spine

I’m longing to feel your gentle touch so strongly across my skin

Bring out the silent poet's
The one's in the back of H.P;
I'll be happy to read their work
Let's make them famous as thou and me.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.

today we decided to bake a cake.

it was my idea really,
you said you were the expert,
but i wanted to help.

i poured water and oil
while you cracked eggs,
then i stirred and stirred
until you poured it in the pans.
you placed them in the oven
that i avoided
because it is my greatest
fear.

we waited until they were done
we waited until they cooled
so that we could decorate.

again you took charge,
but i didn't mind
because i could've watched you all day,
taking your time-
so delicate, fragile, gentle.

your handwriting is beautiful
and you wouldn't let me write,
so i chose to respond
with a frosting fight.

we chased each other in circles,
in circles we chased each other.

you grabbed my wrist
(if only you decided
to interlock our fingers,
i wouldn't have minded).

so i grabbed your wrist
and we danced around-
our feet were pound (ing)
frosting hit the ground
we laughed with a joyous sound
and then you found...

the perfect opportunity.
you smeared it in my,
face
nose
hair
clothes,
so i chased you up the stairs
and you tried restraining me,
i chased you down the stairs
and you helped me see,
that we had no time left
for fun,
we had to finish the cake
we begun.

so i grabbed the sprinkles,
you caught the ones that fell;
i handed you the candles,
frantically listening for the door bell.

it came too soon
we had to hurry put everything in random places act like everything was normal
because the cake was a surprise.

later we finished,
you lit the cake,
it was truly beautiful,
what we can make,
when we work together.

you told me to prep for a new season, that what was dying is now dead
said we must steel ourselves with warmth against the first frost, it was the worst no
it was a testament or
just a test
& here, where we carve our winters from the gentle curve of the ampersand
from punctuation that's meant to bring us closer but only moves us further apart
like the swell of a gentle tide &
even the beach must face bitter winds filled with eburnean matter meant to cling to our skin
we will reenact this act, this ampersand
you are the skin
i am the surf no
i am the sand
no
i am the snow
&
nothing is warm